Indelible
by Baron Nomaw
Summary: Harry & Draco connect, post-hogwarts.  During their first meeting they sit back to back – but with a few inches of space between them, as befits old enemies.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story will be preslash to slash, and long.**

**First chapter is the setup. The payoff – development of H/D awesomeness – starts next chapter. Which I'm posting right now, so don't worry, no waiting :o)**

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><p>It started, like so many things started, with Harry Potter.<p>

Or rather, in a manner of speaking it started with Hermione – she was, after all, the first ever to have a magical scar that said _MUDBLOOD _carved into her arm. But she hated it, and struggled against it, and tried every spell and potion there was to be rid of it. She even swallowed her revulsion long enough to speak to a few ex-Death-Eaters, but each of them shook his head and showed her, reluctantly, that his mark of Cain was right where it had always been and wasn't going anywhere. She saw tattoo artists, she saw makeup specialists, she saw mediwizards. She even saw _muggles._ But nobody could help. Magical brands, everyone explained, were forever.

Forever. So, the artist thought Harry Potter had gone completely off his head when he walked into a magical tattoo shop and rolled up his sleeve and explained what he wanted. The next day he went to Hermione's to show her. It wasn't even done healing yet and it was hideous: a bold black tattoo on his forearm, _MUDBLOOD,_ scrawled in that handwriting that looked like it belonged to a Confunded ten-year-old. A permanent, ugly magical brand made out of a dirty word.

"Your heritage is nothing to be ashamed of," he told her. (He'd had help preparing the speech; "heritage" was not his own idea). "My mum's family is about as muggle as you can be, and I'm not going to walk around being upset about it, am I? _Mudblood_ is only an insult if we let it be."

Hermione grabbed his arm and stared at it in disbelief. "Harry – that'll never come off!"

"And I'll never be a pureblood," he said calmly. "And I'll never care."

She started to weep, which terrified him, but she threw her arms around his neck and held him so tight he couldn't get away.

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><p>Ron came by soon afterwards. "Harry told me about his tattoo," he said. "And I thought, all very well for him, you know, show solidarity and all… but what about me? I come from fifty generations of wizards. Ginger wizards," he added, "So we know we don't even have any mailman problems."<p>

He couldn't look Hermione in the face as he said the rest. "But I thought _this _was sort of appropriate. The way people get _MUM _sometimes." He pulled up his sleeve to show her. _MUDBLOOD_ – in a Cupid's heart. "I'm sorry it's so bloody romantic, Hermione, but I didn't know what else to-"

He didn't even get the whole sentence out before she was smothering him in a hug even weepier than the one Harry had gotten.

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><p>And of course, Harry Potter being Harry Potter, the gesture made the papers. Before long the tattoo was everywhere. Muggle-born wizards got it in droves, delighted to help rob the terrible insult of its power. Ron's version appeared too, on wizards of all backgrounds. Friends and relatives of the dead got the tattoo as a memorial. Angry pureblood teenagers got it as a rebellion – and sent photos to their parents in Azkaban. And a lot of repentant ex-voldemorters who were <em>not <em>in Azkaban grit their teeth and got the brand as well, as proof that their skull-and-snake days were over.

So it was soon _everywhere_. Harry was ambivalent. Some days he was just glad Hermione was smiling again and people had nothing to torture her with, but other times it set his teeth on edge to see so many wizards strutting around with Hermione's _MUDBLOOD _hanging out of their sleeve. Strangers who _had no right. _

Ron mostly laughed off his bad attitude. "It's become a fashion statement, mate," he'd say. "Which means you're in fashion for a change. Just smile and enjoy it."

Harry didn't think he would ever be able to write off Hermione's screams as _fashion,_ but he did his best. He learned to smile and shake hands with every idiot who ran up to him to proudly show off their tattoo, and he didn't bite anybody's head off about it.

He was Harry Potter, after all. This was just the sort of thing he had to get used to.

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><p>TBC.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Aaaaaand, here we go. I once promised myself there would be no more Harry/Draco epics. Promise held for a while, but... oops.**

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><p>Hogwarts was <em>packed. <em>Students, former students, parents, Ministry people, historians and tourists – all manner of witches and wizards wanted to be part of the big anniversary celebration. One year since the Battle of Hogwarts. One year since Voldemort was gone for good.

It was a milestone all right, and Harry did his best to behave himself during all the ceremonies and speeches and pictures and hugs. It wasn't easy – before long his dress robes were smothering him. The photographers were starting to make him insane. He hadn't _thought _he was one of those unlucky battle-scarred wizards who had panic attacks when cornered by flashbulbs, but now he was starting to wonder. The crowd was enormous and people kept jostling him, and ruffling his hair, and calling his name. His head was spinning and he didn't think it was just the champagne.

Eventually he reached the end of his endurance. The celebration was too much. He muttered to Ron and Hermione that he needed air and asked them for a distraction, and under cover of the sudden "torch malfunction" that set half the hall briefly on fire, he slipped away and ran for it.

Sprinting down the corridors with his heart in his mouth felt good; it reminded him of old times. He ran deeper and deeper into the school, further and further away from the noise. He needed people not to crowd him, and of course he knew where you had to go to get what you needed.

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><p>Harry dragged the door shut behind him with a satisfying echoing clang and leaned against it. The Room of Requirement was a godsend. Safe at last.<p>

Or not. From behind a pile of stuff in the room came a noise – a gasp and then: "Hello?"

Harry winced. He recognized the voice. Draco Malfoy's. He'd had enough of admirers for one day, but on the other hand enemies were no picnic either.

"It's me – Harry. Potter," he called. "Relax, I won't bother you." Perhaps they could just forget their rocky history for today and peacefully ignore one another.

"Potter? What are you _doing_ in here?" Malfoy sounded odd – thicker, less precise than usual.

Harry would have liked to think he'd outgrown the habit of seeking out trouble that was none of his business… but that tone was odd enough to investigate. "I just needed a breather from the crowds," he explained as he followed the voice down the path and off to the side. "How about you?"

Malfoy was sitting in a little clearing, on the floor, in the center of a mess of wizard photographs. Holding a bottle. "Nothing," he said, and up close Harry could really hear the slur. "Go away."

"Crabbe," Harry recognized from one of the photos that waved. "This is where Crabbe died."

"Yeah. Stupid wanker knew damn well he couldn't control fiendfyre." Malfoy let out a slow breath.

Harry wasn't normally one to speak ill of the dead, but he wasn't about to argue the _stupid wanker _thing either. "_Everyone _was out of their mind that night," he said quietly.

"Heh. Spose so. _You_ even did a favor for _me_." Malfoy pushed some of the pile out of the way with his foot, and Harry took that as invitation to sit down.

"I'm sorry. About Crabbe." He could feel Malfoy stiffen next to him, so he added: "Not that _I'm sorry _helps. I lost people too – I know how you feel."

Malfoy was quiet for a moment, looking him over. Then: "Yeah, I suppose you do." He offered the bottle. "He was different, you know. When we were kids. Want some?"

Harry smelled it and thought very strongly that he _didn't _want some, but it seemed a peace gesture and he'd rather not say no. "What is it?"

"Dunno. There's all kinds of magical rotgut in here if you look for it. Vile, isn't it?"

Harry swallowed down a sip and choked on it. Malfoy snickered at him and so he tried again, hoping to take it more manfully the second time… but he only choked harder. He handed the bottle back.

Malfoy took a sip and got it down with hardly a face. "What do you mean you need a _breather_?" he said at last.

"Too many people. All trying to hug me, show me their brands." And then he added, although it should have been obvious to anybody with a brain: "I don't actually _like _being famous, you know."

"Brands?" Malfoy said, sipping at the awful liquor again.

Harry gestured to his sleeve. "You know, the… the _mudblood _thing." He winced. "Don't tell me you've got one too."

Malfoy's face froze and he shifted his body away.

"Malfoy?" Harry pressed after a moment. Now that he actually thought about it, the idea was revolting. "You don't, do you?" But Malfoy wasn't answering. His sleeves were loose though, and before Harry could stop himself he pounced and yanked one up.

"Get off – let _go-_" Malfoy struggled but it was too late; Harry had seen a bit of black print.

"_You?_" Harry sputtered. He could hardly breathe. "How- how dare you! _You_, as if you _care_, you _watched_ Hermione getting carved up..._" _

"Fuck off, Potter – _fuck off_." It was a venomous hiss. "I _know _what happened – I was _there, _remember?_ – _and does it look like I went and got this for fun? Hmm?" He pulled his sleeve up and turned his wrist, and Harry frowned at the mess. It said _MUDBLOOD _all right, but it was no tattoo. The letters were uneven, lumpy black scars.

He almost reached out to touch, and caught himself just in time. "What…?"

"I did it myself. That night." Malfoy tried for a smirk. "I guess that makes _me _the trendsetter then, and not you."

"You did that to yourself? Why?"

Malfoy shrugged and turned his back, hugging his knees. "Dunno. I was angry. Thought maybe I'd see how it feels."

Harry remembered Hermione shrieking and couldn't even begin to imagine a person deciding to inflict that torture on _himself._ Not to mention having the discipline to finish. He didn't know what to say.

"… Like crap," Malfoy declared after a while of silence. "In case you were wondering. It feels like crap."

Harry was surprised into laughter. Then he covered his mouth. "Sorry," he said through his fingers – which smelled like that awful alcohol. "Another sip?"

Malfoy held the bottle off to the side, with his unmarked arm, and Harry took it. After forcing down another miserable swallow he shifted to face away from Malfoy, so that they were sitting back to back… but with a few inches of space between them, as much space as befitted old enemies.

"I shouldn't have said that," Harry said after a moment. "It's not your fault what happened that night."

"But I didn't _do_ anything about it either. That's mostly what I was so angry about, that I hadn't stopped them _or _joined in. Either way would've been fine."

Harry stiffened. "You don't think it's better to be cowardly than evil?"

Malfoy snorted and scooted backwards so that he could butt into Harry from behind. "Thanks for pulling your punches, Potter. I really appreciate it." But it was only weary, not venomous, and afterwards he groped for the bottle and drank some more. He leaned his head back to rest on Harry's shoulder.

It was quiet for a bit. Harry was still thinking of that awful scar, and then all of a sudden he noticed that the room felt a little unsteady and that Draco's head on his shoulder was sort of unbalancing him. The liquor – that stupid liquor. He shifted and leaned his own head back, onto _Draco's_ shoulder, and just stayed there a while until the ceiling steadied. "Sorry," he said upwards.

"S'alright."

And it _was_. It _was _all right, to be sitting here resting against horrible Draco Malfoy, who despite all his sneer and bluster apparently punished himself like a house-elf when he failed to do the right thing.

Harry snorted – the image of Draco as a house-elf was just ridiculous. "Someone needs to buy you clothes," he said aloud.

"What?" Draco was startled into sitting upright. "What about my clothes?"

Without the support behind him Harry could no longer keep vertical; the floor came out of nowhere to hit him on the side and he realized he'd fallen over. He laughed against the ground.

"What was that about my clothes?" Draco insisted. He nudged Harry – not gently. "Hey. You drunk freak – I barely gave you _anything_. Get up. My clothes what?"

Still laughing, Harry rolled carefully onto his hands and knees, and then rose up until he was kneeling. "Nothing. It's just your-…" He gestured to his forearm, stroking over where his own tattoo was. "You're like a house-elf. That's all. Draco the house-elf."

Draco stared at him for a moment and then stuttered with laughter himself. "You drunk freak," he repeated, but now there was amusement, almost admiration in it.

Harry tried to sober up (figuratively. There was no way he was going to manage to be _literally _sober at this point and he knew it.). "Sorry."

"You need to stop drinking and go back out there." A moment of wicked snickers. "But I'd keep my mouth shut and stay away from reporters if I were you."

Harry passed a hand over his face. "I hate you." He got to his feet carefully. All the waving pictures of Crabbe on the floor disoriented him and he almost lost his balance again, but using Draco's head as an anchor to hold on to sort of helped. "There," he said once he was mostly steady. He walked towards the door, in as straight a line as he could.

He was almost there when Draco called after him: "Potter."

"Yeh?"

"Don't tell anyone – about my arm. You hear me?"

"Aright. See you." Then he hesitated, hand already on the doorknob. "Wait… _Will _I see you? Where are you?"

A giggle. "I'm in the Room of Requirement. Quite drunk at this point, if I do say so myself."

"No, I mean…" Harry had to pause to giggle himself. "I mean where are you _living_?"

A long pause. "My family's got an apartment in Knockturn Alley, I'm staying there." Another pause. "You can drop by sometime if you're ever _knocking _about." He snorted. "Yes, yes, that wasn't funny, I'm drunk," he anticipated. "I told you – go away."

Harry finally went. Still laughing.

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><p>TBC.<p>

**Let me know what you think. What I've got in mind at this point is going to end up pretty long and I'd really appreciate feedback along the way. What do you think so far?**


	3. Chapter 3

Harry had had a terrible day. His wand arm itched like crazy because his skin was regrowing, there was nothing to eat in his house and he couldn't very well spell anything up in this state, and, worst of all, it was a Wednesday and so he couldn't even complain to Ron and Hermione about it. (They were on a strict schedule of spending at least every third night without him because, as Ron put it: "Otherwise we might as well get _three_ engagement rings, and that's just weird.")

He ran through the (short) list of people he liked to spend time with, but none of them were looking to go out and eat. And he never went to restaurants alone, unless he felt like disguising himself, because people would come up and bother him.

So, that was how he ended up in Knockturn Alley, banging on the door of the Malfoy apartment for the first time.

The peep hole peeped at him and squeaked his name. Over and over. He resisted the urge to make a face at it.

The door was finally yanked open. "You," Draco said, eyes narrowed. "I hope you realize that if I said anything nice to you last time it was only because I was drunk."

"Don't worry, you didn't."

Draco relaxed. "Good."

It seemed they were on the same page, so Harry just smiled as if all this had constituted a normal greeting. He supposed that between _them,_ it did. "Did you eat yet? Want to go out?"

At that Draco stood up straight. "With you? Absolutely not – I can't be seen with you." He stepped back, out of the doorway. "You can come in if you want, though."

"Oh-… er, all right." Harry stepped in, half-expecting Death Eaters to jump out of the walls at him.

Perhaps he did a worse job than he thought of not looking wary, because Draco snorted at him. "It's just me, Potter. And the wards are all strictly legal. And anything that's been programmed to kill you has been removed."

Harry wasn't entirely sure he was joking. "Why can't you be seen with me?" he said as Draco led him into a cozy living room. Then he jumped, at the sight of an enormous bigscreen. "Whoa! You watch Muggle television?"

"Movies, actually. Wizard movies are rubbish by comparison." Malfoy plopped down on the couch and pushed his hair out of his face. "I can't be seen with you for the same reason you can't be seen with me – too much explaining. The people I run with wouldn't like it."

"Mm." That was fair enough, actually. Harry certainly didn't plan on telling any of his friends who he'd had dinner with. And speaking of dinner, he was far too hungry now to be polite. "So are you… going to cook?"

"If by _cook _you mean, _call a house elf, _then, yeah." He clapped his hands and hollered "_FLOPPY!_"

A ridiculously wrinkly elf appeared and before Harry could even say hello Draco shouted at it: "WE WANT DINNER!"

"Draco!" Harry had still not reconciled himself to the convention that other people's house-elves were other people's business. "Would it kill you to be _civil_ do you think?"

The look Draco gave him was withering. "Floppy is about a thousand years old, _Harry_. If you don't shout, she won't hear you." He turned back to the elf and ruffled its ears. "SOMETHING SPICY, OKAY? SPICY."

Floppy tottered off to the kitchen.

Harry sat down in a comfortable-looking armchair, and then noticed that Draco was staring at him. "What?"

"What happened to your hand?"

"Oh. That." Harry held it up to examine it in the light. The new skin was still sort of pink and shiny, but it looked like it was healing all right. "Got burned pretty bad at work today."

"Work?" Draco repeated. Harry was surprised he even knew the word. "You're working? Where?"

"I'm with D-mob now."

"_What_?" Draco slammed his fist into the sofa. "No – that's not possible. _You _are with D-mob?"

"Yeah." He tried not to be insulted – it was a fair question. The Dangerous Magical Objects department took only the best of the best; Harry's grades should have prevented him from even applying.

"How? My father couldn't even get me an _interview_."

Harry shrugged. "They were impressed by the… the horcruxes thing."

Draco whistled and sat back in his seat. "I hate you," he said at last. "How is it?"

"It's great. A lot of fun, you should _see _some of the things I deal with. Although…" he held up his re-growing hand.

"In a bit over your head, are you?"

"Sometimes." Then he narrowed his eyes. "Secret," he admonished.

Draco pantomimed turning a key over his mouth. Except then he spoiled the effect by shouting without warning: "FLOPPY I'M HUNGRY!"

Harry winced. "Is that the _only _way you can communicate with her?"

"I tried to teach her to read when I was little. Didn't take."

"Well… don't they make spells that enhance your hearing, or something?"

Draco gave him a _look. _"Are you actually stupid enough to use human medical spells on a non-human? Do the words _different species _mean _anything_ to you?" He shook his head and propped his feet up on the coffee table. "It's your fault things like Hagrid exist."

"First of all, you leave Hagrid alone," Harry said automatically. "And second, I would _never_… um-… cross species lines with a giant. I don't even know how it's possible, _and I don't want to think about it._" He slouched back in his chair and wished his legs were long enough to get to the coffee table too.

Malfoy quirked his eyebrows. "There are a lot of half-giants out there, though," he pointed out. "_Somebody _must be doing it."

"Blgh." Time for a subject change – the louder the better. "FLOPPY? HOW'S IT COMING?"

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><p>TBC.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **

**Connortemple4evaneva – good for you! Yes, there's something about Floppy. It's important and we'll get to it in a couple of chapters.**

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><p>Three weeks later, at Hermione and Ron's.<p>

"Harry! Floo for you!"

"Hm? Is it work? Floo them back, tell them I'm not here."

"Harry."

"Cmon, Hermione, you need practice with your lying anyway. Remember? Firm voice, eye contact. _Harry's not here._ Try it."

"No, it's… it's not work. It's just a note, a note came through."

"From who?"

"It doesn't say. It just says: _I'm bored. Come over._ No signature. Harry… do you have a _girlfriend_? Is that where you've been going?"

"Actually I… well, no, you'll tease. Forget it, I'm not going over there tonight anyway."

"Yes you _are_! You can't ignore her. Go on. I'll tell Ron you said goodnight. Go – on behalf of home-alone girlfriends everywhere, I _order_ you to go."

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><p>It was a mistake to attempt to watch all three <em>Star Wars <em>movies in a row. By the time the final credits were rolling Harry could barely keep his eyes open, and when he looked over he discovered that Draco had already given up.

Harry tried to slip off the couch without being noticed, but Draco was apparently a light sleeper and his eyes opened partway. "Mm?" he asked.

"I've got to go," Harry said, quietly, hoping not to wake him all the way. "It's three AM and I have work tomorrow."

"Meh. Just stay the night." Draco waved loopily in the general direction of his bedroom. "You can borrow clothes; you haven't gotten _that _fat."

Harry had to laugh. He was almost tempted, except he neverslept away from home unless he really couldn't help it. It wasn't exactly that he thought he wouldn't be _safe _here, or _comfortable…_ not exactly. "No… I don't have my toothbrush." It seemed the best way to explain his baseless unease.

But at that, Draco opened his eyes all the way and sat up. "Your what?" He frowned. "Oh – _toothbrush_? That muggle thing? You know we have ways… don't you?"

"Really?" That got his attention – a _spell_ to brush your teeth? How lazy could you get?

"Yeah. I'll show you. Help me up." With Harry's help Draco lurched to his feet, squinting against the the TV static, and groped for his wand in his sleeve. "_Nox. Lumos. _There." By the softer light of his wand he stumbled through the living room down the hall, and lit the dimmest light in the bathroom. "Come in here. Watch."

Harry followed him in and watched in the mirror. It wasn't clear to him how Draco's hair had managed to get so mussed lying still on the couch though, and it was a little distracting. The poor thing looked like a sleepy hedgehog.

"Look. There's an incantation too, but this way is easier. Watch. Wizard toothpaste." He held up a bottle. "Wizard wand." He held up his wand. "Connect wand to toothpaste. Magick a little – just a spark," he said, demonstrating. "The stuff responds to it. See?" He drew his wand away and a stream of suds leaped from the bottle to follow it. "You put it in your mouth…" he transferred the suds effortlessly with a flick of his fingers, "…an' 'en 'oo 'rush wivit."

Harry watched. It looked easy. So he touched his wand to the toothpaste and sent a bit of magic at it. Too much, apparently, because nearly half the bottle leaped out to stick to the end of his wand, but still… it seemed to be working. He brought the suds to his mouth and tried to zap them in, but they didn't behave, and when he tried to start brushing he instead shot toothpaste-foam out of his mouth and all over the mirror.

Malfoy spat into the sink and heaved a sigh. "Pathetic. Hold still." He took his wand and went for the bottle again. "Small spark. Open up." He zapped the foam into Harry's mouth, still shaking his head in disgust. "We try to get the toothpaste _in _our mouths," he lectured, "Not all over our face. And then when we brush it's tiny motions – see? You're not brushing a dragon's fangs." Harry watched the wand jiggle in Malfoy's fingers and tried not to shy away at the tickling of suds over his tongue. "Okay – now spit."

Harry did as he was told, and tried not to feel ridiculous.

Malfoy wasn't helping. "You remind me of me – when I was two."

"Thanks," Harry growled.

"No problem. Pyjamas are in the top drawer of my tall dresser." He shoved by Harry and stumbled to the bedroom, pulling his clothes off as he went. "Skivvies are fine too, but there's no sleeping naked in my apartment – especially if you're going to share the bed with me."

Harry stared and didn't move.

"If you're taking the couch make sure you magick over the windows," Draco mumbled as he crawled under the covers of his enormous four-poster. "Otherwise the light comes in."

Harry weighed his options. Drag himself home, lumpy couch, or luxurious bed with a veritable _army _of huge down pillows.

He spelled an alarm clock into being and was asleep within thirty seconds.

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><p>TBC.<p>

Next chapter will probably be up tomorrow. I can post in longer chapters if you guys prefer, but then they won't be updated as frequently. Either way is fine with me, so let me know if the short-length chapters are annoying and I'll switch to the other way.


	5. Chapter 5

Two weeks later, at work.

Harry started off the day in a wonderful mood – as usual. He was now, for the first time in what felt like forever, sleeping completely without nightmares.

Draco's bedroom was spelled with a powerful Dreamcatcher ward, and he'd been horrified to discover that Harry didn't have one of his own. "How do you _sleep_, after the things you've seen? I can't – even with the ward, sometimes things get in… I can't even imagine trying to do without it."

Now that he'd experienced deep uninterrupted sleep for a dozen nights in a row, Harry couldn't imagine it either. He pranced into work every morning cheerful and on time – or maybe five minutes late, if he had to stop by his apartment and pick up something he'd left there. But it was working out wonderfully.

Today had been an on-time day. And it was supposed to be a great day too, since the committee was meeting to hand out field assignments. Sometimes these were boring, routine inspections of places thought to have Dark artifacts lurking around from the Voldemort days, but more often, assignments were things like exploring a cave full of explosive runes or trying to disable an endlessly-overflowing cauldron of corrosive poison.

Harry sat down at the meeting all ready for something good to happen, except instead, the chairman stood up and said: "Malfoy."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"Yes," somebody seconded. "Malfoy Manor hasn't been searched in six months and I _know _something's going on in there."

"Fine," the chairman said. "You do it – and take Potter, in case you need a Parselmouth. A lot of Lucius's things are marked with snakes, and who knows what any of them do."

Harry cleared his throat. "Actually, I don't think I can be one of the ones to investigate the Malfoys. Sorry. I think I have a conflict."

"You?" The chairman frowned, and unscrolled a parchment. "No you don't. There's no familial conflict, is there? Relation by blood or marriage, anything nearer than four generations?"

"Well, no…"

"Close friendship of at least five years' duration?"

"No…"

The chairman snorted. "Sexual relationship consisting of at least two encounters, each party having been sober and consenting at least once?"

"What? No! No, nothing like that." Harry shrugged. "Draco Malfoy and I have become friendly over the last couple of weeks, that's all, and I just… I don't think he'll want me going through his house."

"Then he shouldn't be keeping Dark materials in there, should he." The chairman waved Harry to silence. "You and Arianna will go first thing tomorrow. I'll have the orders ready this afternoon."

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><p>Harry locked the door to his office and turned up his fireplace. "Draco? Hurry up, listen, I have to talk to you."<p>

Draco looked sleepy – still, at eleven in the morning. "What?"

"Listen, they want me to-" He stopped suddenly because of a knock on his door.

"Harry?" It was Ron.

Harry broke the connection and turned his back to the flames. "Ron… come in." He unlocked the door with his wand and tried to look as non-awkward as possible.

"Funny rumours going around," Ron said, with his arms crossed. "Something about you and Draco Malfoy?"

"Oh, for-." He rolled his eyes. "I knew somebody would say that."

"So is that who you've been going to see every night? Hermione and I wondered – you haven't come for dinner in _ages_. We know you can't cook, and you don't seem to be starving to death, so we figured you must have found a girlfriend." Ron smirked. "We never thought it'd be _Malfoy._"

"Very funny, Ron." He should have been prepared for this conversation. He knew, he should have known that he'd have to justify Malfoy sooner or later. "He's not my girlfriend. He's got house-elves. And also a huge Muggle television," he added, and Ron looked suitably impressed. "I've no idea how he managed to spell it to work in the Alley; it must have cost a fortune, but yeah. So I've been eating over there. You and Hermione need time alone anyway."

Ron didn't look fully convinced. "That's weird, mate."

"So?" Harry put his wand in his pocket. "I'm going to lunch. Tell everybody to leave me alone – and that Malfoy is _not _my girlfriend."

"Lunch? But you just got here," Ron tried to protest, but Harry brushed by him and pretended not to hear.

* * *

><p>Harry left the building, but didn't get far before a spell poked him in the shoulder. He whipped around to see who had cast it. "Draco? What are you doing here?"<p>

"Are you all right?"

"What? Of course, I'm fine, why…?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "You Floo'd me in a panic, and then you broke the connection mid-sentence. Forgive me for worrying."

"Oh-… no, no, it was nothing." Harry explained the assignment, and his failed attempt to get out of it, and finished up with, "So, I don't know what to do. I mean, I don't want to be weird… you and me…"

Draco frowned. "Check the wards, you said?" he said after a moment.

Harry blinked. Checking the wards was just preliminary, it hardly mattered. The _real _invasive bit would be when they went through the Manor with Dark Detectors poking around in all of the family's things.

"Well, yeah," he said. "We check to make sure the house wards operate to keep bad things out – and not good. We do it before we even go in."

"You can't."

Harry didn't look at him. "Draco, it's my job."

"No, I mean-" Draco heaved a sigh. "I mean you _literally _can't, I mean the wards won't even engage when you show up."

"What? Why?"

"Because… er." Draco stepped away. He fidgeted and finally found his pockets. "Because they'll recognize you as part of the family," he said. "The house-elves will probably all greet you as Master Harry too."

Harry didn't understand. "What do you mean – how could Malfoy Manor even _know_ me? The only time I've ever beenthere was to be tortured and killed."

Draco absently rubbed his scar a moment. "Lay off," he said roughly, "That wasn't my fault." He made a face and explained, "I got tired of my apartment wards acting up when you come home every night, all right? So I just added you to them. Except the apartment wards are connected to the ones on the house, so you'll be recognized there, too."

"I'm _recognized_ by the Malfoy family wards? And-… and you didn't think you should have _asked _me first?" Harry exploded after a moment. "What am I supposed to tell them at work, when we go to _search a place for evil _and the place says to me: _Hey boss!"_

"Fine_. _If it's going to be so much of a problem I'll _fix _it-"

"Yes, do! And next time maybe you should _ask _before you go-"

"Harry?" somebody called from across the parking lot. Ron.

Harry froze. Glaring. "Now look. This'll be ugly."

"Oh, stuff it. We're all adults." Draco drew himself up and nodded as Ron approached. "Weasley."

"I thought it was you." Ron looked like he had found a flobberworm in his cereal. "What on god's green earth are you doing here?"

Adults indeed.

"All right- Ron-…" Harry tried talking to both of them at once somehow. "Draco, look, we'll talk about- Ron, don't, Draco and I are friendly now. Listen-"

"_Friendly_?" Ron and Draco echoed at the same time. They stared at each other.

"What does that mean?" Ron demanded.

Draco spread his hands and backed away. "Don't ask _me_," he protested. "One thing I promise you we're _not, _is friendly."

Harry hissed. "Draco, come on-…"

Ron frowned. "_Draco?"_

Draco lit up with a moment of nasty glee. "See you at home, _Harry_," he sneered. "And don't worry, the door _will _try to eat you this time, I promise."

"Draco-"

Draco smirked goodbye to Ron and Disapparated. In a completely unnecessary cloud of green and black smoke.

* * *

><p>TBC.<p>

So if you're still with it so far... let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

Harry cast a protective spell against the little fireballs that the door was spewing at him, and finally called: "Draco?"

"You can't come in!"

"Yes, I… I see that. Will you please open the door?"

"No!"

Harry decided to try the door himself, but when he touched the knob it shocked him hard enough to send him yelping to the floor.

Instantly the TV went off. "Harry?"

"I'm fine," Harry growled, and the TV turned back on. He sighed and raised his voice over it. "I just got shocked by your door for some strange reason, that's all."

"Yep, it'll do that," Draco called back. "Especially to people who aren't recognized by the family magic."

"I'm sorry!" Harry tried. "I was wrong, okay? I shouldn't have acted like that, I was under stress, I'm very sorry. Now will you please let me in?"

"No!"

"Please?"

"No!"

But Draco sounded almost merry. Harry knew perfectly well he wasn't _actually _being thrown out; if he was _actually _unwelcome the door would be doing more than just growling and spitting fireballs. "All right… what do I have to do?" he said, resigned. "I really am sorry."

"Damn right you're sorry."

"Draco, come on. I'm standing on your doorstep begging. How long are you going to keep me out here?"

Draco was silent a moment. Then: "How long have you been out there already?"

Harry looked at his watch. "I dunno… five or ten minutes?"

"Okay, well at _least_ twenty minutes longer then. Probably more."

"Draco!"

"I don't hear you begging…"

* * *

><p>When Draco finally opened the door, he <em>still <em>didn't let Harry in. He stood blocking it, crossing his arms.

"I'm sorry?" Harry hazarded again. Hermione had explained how insulting it was to ask to be removed from the protection of someone's magic. It was like asking to be disowned. Still, though, Draco should _know _Harry didn't know that sort of thing.

"That so?"

"Yeah. It's just that you went and, you know, basically married me without my permission, Draco. That's weird to me. I like my space, okay?"

"Okay." He still didn't move.

"But… I thought it over, and, you're right, it does make sense for me to be included in the wards here. So: will you please put me back on? I _said _I'm sorry."

Draco's lips twitched, completely ruining the effect of his attempted sneer. "Are you asking me to marry you, Potter?"

He wasn't mad anymore. Harry tried to sass back instead of looking visibly relieved. "You already invited me into your bed."

Draco snorted and moved out of the doorway. "Come in. I didn't really take you off the wards anyway – I just spelled the door into being a little hostile. I knew you'd come around."

Harry glared but was ignored.

"You should be happy, actually," Draco said. "The Malfoy Manor wards are some of the best in the world. I come from a long line of wizards people are always trying to kill."

"And they cover this place too?" Harry's sole experience with home wards up til now was that awful piece of magic at the Dursleys' house, the one that required him to actually physically live there some months of the year.

"Yep. _Any place a Malfoy owns, and any place one calls his home_," he chanted, then shrugged. "Now also meaning, any place _you _own or call your home too. Which I bet includes Weasley's house… my parents are going to kill me. I've probably warded half the country."

"You can _do _that?"

Draco spread his hands and bowed. "Malfoy."

"Wow."

"Yeah. So," he said after a moment. "About your ransacking the Manor tomorrow: I don't want you to do it."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry." Harry winced. "I _tried _to say no_, _but they want a Parselmouth. They won't let me turn the assignment down."

Draco shrugged. "Okay. Let's conflict you out of it then."

And before Harry could process what he might mean, Draco whipped his wand out and snapped _Expelliarmus. _And _then_, before Harry could process why he had done _that, _Draco grabbed him and threw him down on the couch.

* * *

><p>TBC.<p>

**A/N: Uh-oh! **

**Nah, just kidding. Don't worry, I'm not going to traumatize you guys.**

**And sorry for the cliffhanger; I'm in the process of moving and things are hectic. Next chapter is ready and will be posted tonight or tomorrow.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Warning for... um, nonconsensual humping? Is that even a warning?**

* * *

><p>Harry was flailing and struggling, but he'd been caught by surprise and he'd never been much good at hand-to-hand combat anyway. He managed to shove Draco partway off him but it didn't do much good; Draco just shook him hard enough to make his teeth rattle and then manhandled him down to the floor while he reeled.<p>

Flat on his back with Draco straddling his hips, Harry finally made himself stop fighting – it wasn't working. Reason might work better. "What are you doing?" he hissed.

Draco got hold of his wrists and pinned them to the floor. "What does it look like?" He scooted his hips back, tilting his pelvis so that his crotch was mashed flat to Harry's. Harry started struggling again. "Relax," Draco laughed, "I'm not going to rape you."

"Yeah? Could've fooled me," Harry managed as he fought. "Get _off_." Draco began fussing with their position and Harry gasped in pain as one arm was forced underneath his back, crushed against the floor where he couldn't pull it free. His other arm was still pinned, his wrist being squeezed with far more strength than he would have guessed from a skinny little seeker. "Let go of me right now or-" But Draco slapped a hand over his mouth before he could even finish the threat.

"Don't bother screaming; this is Knockturn Alley and the neighbors are used to it." Draco wedged one leg in between Harry's so that he could grind more effectively. "There. Lie still and enjoy the ride."

Harry didn't lie still or enjoy any of anything while Draco rubbed against him. _Let go, _he tried to say, and _Euw _and _Draco!,_ but with Draco's hand over his mouth he couldn't manage anything beyond _Mrrr mph fmmph._ He wondered if biting might help.

The hand trapped underneath them began to fall asleep before long, and Harry twisted his head sharply to the side to get rid of Draco's smothering fingers. "Ow," he gasped, "You're hurting me."

Draco pulled his face from Harry's neck long enough to look at the wrist he was squeezing. "Where?"

"Other hand. Now will you _please_ get off before I-"

Draco laughed breathlessly and thrust his hips hard. "I'm _trying _to get off," he said. "But fine, here." He rolled them sideways enough for Harry to get his arm free, and then grabbed it when it moved to hit him. "Almost done – stay still and let me concentrate."

"No! Eugh!" Harry bucked up again but when that made zero progress towards dislodging his attacker, he tried to headbutt him instead.

Draco reared back in time, and then returned his face to its hiding spot in Harry's collar.

Harry could feel his hard-on. "Draco, come on. This is vile."

"Not sexy. Not helping."

So Harry kept his mouth shut; it was probably the fastest way of getting out of here.

Draco didn't take much longer. His orgasm was almost silent and he got up as soon as he was done, well before anything could seep into Harry's clothes, but… Harry still felt pretty vile.

"That was the worst sexual experience of my life," he said, picking himself slowly off the floor. "If it even _qualifies_ as a sexual experience."

"It does as far as the Ministry spells are concerned." Draco was cleaning himself up with a spell. "And don't worry, you'll get yours in the morning. We need one more _encounter, _and it needs to be on a separate day, and you need to be both sober and willing."

"Willing my arse." Harry's eyes narrowed. "Hey – how do you know so much about the Ministry conflict rules anyway?" he asked suddenly. "This isn't your first time, is it."

Draco chuckled. "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."

"A _gentleman?_" Harry's voice cracked. "You just grind-raped me on the floor."

"I tried the couch, but you wouldn't cooperate."

And yet he hadn't denied it – this _wasn't_ his first time. "So you make a habit of grind-raping Ministry workers on your couch, then?"

"It's hardly a _habit." _Draco shrugged. "My parents had terrible things in the basement once. Aurors were going to come by. We had to buy time."

"_No_."

"Mm-hm. My father paid them or blackmailed them or something for their cooperation, and we… you know. Conflicted them out."

Harry could hardly make a face disgusted enough. "_We_? Draco!"

"In separate rooms! Obviously." Draco seemed somehow to think this made it all right. "And when we were done, not a _single_ member of the search committee was authorized to participate. The search order kept catching fire right in their hands. By the time they got a new squad deputized, all the evidence was gone."

Harry couldn't even find words, but Draco read his expression correctly and rolled his eyes. "Harry, if you knew who was _on _that committee, you'd be even more disgusted," he added. "And you wouldn't be complaining about _this _at all." He gestured back and forth between them.

Harry glared. "Yeah, well, fortunately I don't, and so I am," he growled, wishing he could sound more imposing and less sulky.

"Stop whining."

"You just… came on me." He could still hardly believe it. "Eugh. I am not sleeping in your bed tonight."

"Fine. Good." Draco's nose was in the air. "You kick, anyway. And you grab."

"I do not!"

"You do. You grab and you squeeze and you cuddle," Draco informed him gleefully. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but you, Harry Potter, are a sleep-cuddler. I have to practically wrestle you off every night."

Harry glowered at him but had no answer. Instead he just hollered for Floppy and ordered a snack and wouldn't talk while he ate it. He put on _The Godfather_ and wouldn't talk then either.

Draco didn't force conversation. All he said when it was time for bed was: "If you want the couch remember to magick over the windows." He was almost to his room when he turned and added: "And expect to be woken up _in style_. Whether or not you stay in my apartment at all."

* * *

><p>TBC.<p>

(This nutty turn of events has a purpose, I promise.)


	8. Chapter 8

Harry lay awake on the couch for two hours. He wrestled with the idea of leaving, but where would he go? Home? Draco would find him there. Ron and Hermione's? Draco would find him there too – and then they would _hear _what was going on, and that would be a thousand times worse. Plus, Ron would probably kill Draco, and he didn't think he wanted _that._

He thought about running away and finding a hotel to hide in, but he suspected Draco knew how to track prey when he really wanted to, and would find him there too.

So he resigned himself to just staying where he was and dealing with the morning when it happened… but every time the floor creaked or a picture shifted he panicked and jumped up.

At this rate he wouldn't sleep at all.

He checked the clock and noticed that it was after midnight already. He was going to be exhausted for work tomorrow. Or, rather, _today_.

That thought made him frown. It was technically tomorrow already. So if he got up and had another encounter with Draco now, it should count just fine.

And then, instead of suffering whatever terrible coercion Draco came up with to make him qualify as "willing" in the morning, he would get to surprise him instead and really turn the tables.

That, he actually _was _willing to do.

So Harry got up, quietly, and tiptoed down the hall. He took a deep breath by Draco's door and nudged it open.

Draco was snoring softly. Harry made a face at him. Better to be a sleep-cuddler than to _snore_! He crept into the room and stood by the foot of the bed, debating his next move. Should he use his wand? Or just leap through the air and physically squash him flat?

While he thought about it Draco's mouth opened and, mid-snore, he said coolly: "I'm awake and I see you standing there."

"Arrgh!" Harry jumped up on the bed and threw himself on Draco – but over the covers so at least they weren't touching. "I haven't decided what I'm going to do to you yet," he growled, "But it's going to be completely horrible."

"Fine," Draco answered, still cool. "But can we do it up against a wall or something? This is where I _sleep_, Romeo."

A reasonable enough request. Harry rolled off him. "All right. Get up. Wall."

Draco got out of bed without even reaching for his wand, and did as he was told. He spread his feet and braced both hands against the wall.

Feeling somewhat cheated, Harry hissed at his back. "Why aren't you the least bit nervous?"

"Because you're Harry bloody Potter, that's why," Draco said.

Only Draco Malfoy could make _I trust you _sound like an insult. Harry sighed and touched his shoulder – bare, he noticed now. Draco was in briefs and nothing else. "What do I have to do?"

Draco spoke up without any hesitation. "Have an orgasm while you're physically touching me."

"That's it?"

"Mm-hm. You can do it the way I did, or if you'd rather wank all by yourself, I'll just stand on your foot or something."

Harry could think of very few things less appealing than trying to masturbate with Draco Malfoy standing on his foot.

"Or actually," Draco continued, "_I _could have the orgasm if you wanted… but then you'll have to beg for it all throughout, because I don't want the charm to wonder whether you were willing or not."

No, all right, this latest idea was even _less_ appealing than the standing-on-foot thing. "Thanks but _I'll _have the orgasm," he decided. "You just stand there and… and try to look as much like an attractive female as possible. And don't say anything."

Draco moved a hand long enough to make an OK sign, and then resumed his position.

Harry took a breath and couldn't believe he was doing this… and reached into his pyjamas.

He took hold of himself and started to stroke, but after a moment Draco broke the rules and opened his mouth. "Don't forget to touch me," he murmured.

Harry borrowed a line. "Not sexy. Not helping."

Draco snorted and looked over his shoulder just long enough to figure out which of Harry's hands was not busy. He groped for the free wrist and closed his hand around it, hard. Harry winced; it was still sore from their wrestling bout earlier and the squeeze was not helping. "Ease up," he complained.

Draco did, but only a little. "Last thing we want is to screw up and forget to hang on," he pointed out. "We'd have to do this _again_."

"Fine, hang on then. But be quiet." Harry tried closing his eyes and pulling up a favorite fantasy. But he couldn't quite lose track of his surroundings the way he needed to with another person right there, breathing, _touching _him, warming the air right next to him. "I can't," he said at last, and took his hand out of his pants.

"Can't?"

"I can't toss off in front of another person."

"You're _behind_ me."

"Very funny. Look, I'm sorry, I tried to ignore you, but… I can't."

Draco shrugged. "Don't ignore me, then," he suggested.

Harry froze. "You want me to...?"

"_Want_ would be putting it a little strongly. But yeah, go ahead. You'd be surprised how far a warm body will go, no matter who it is. We're both human at least."

"Human?"

Draco shook his head, laughing a little. "That search committee I told you about? Um. There were goblins involved."

Harry tried to yank his wrist free, and when that failed he smacked Draco in the shoulder with his free hand. "_Goblins?_ Draco!"

"So count your blessings, Potter."

"Are you serious?"

"Yep. Now stop thinking about goblins, and start thinking about Princess Leia in a bikini."

Sex with goblins was so disgusting that Harry couldn't manage to feel appropriately disgusted about _this._ He stepped forward until his pelvis was brushing Draco's, and Draco didn't flinch.

Harry took a deep breath. "Can you tilt your hips towards me?" he asked. Draco did, pressing his arse backwards, and Harry was surprised how well he fit against it. He gave a slow experimental thrust and yes, Draco was right, a warm body felt nice no matter who it belonged to. "Is that okay?"

"It's fine," Draco said, his voice almost perfectly cool. So Harry got grinding. Draco moved with him, matching his rhythm, and before long spread his legs too. That gave Harry the extra inch of height he needed to make the fit perfect, and Draco laughed at the way his breath caught. "Better?"

"Yeah. Thanks." Eventually Harry began wishing he'd put his glasses on; Draco's pale flawless skin was actually quite pretty in the moonlight. Once he'd noticed that, without really realizing what he was doing he reached out to run his fingers over Draco's shoulder, which made Draco arch in surprise, hissing.

For some reason the sound made Harry's stomach clench up delightfully. He wanted to hear it again. So, without removing his hand, a moment later he leaned close and blew air over Draco's neck.

"_Ah-!_" this time Draco yelped and pulled away, then pushed back, squeezing Harry's wrist hard. He swallowed once or twice and then said, unsteadily: "Don't, that tickles."

"What – this?" Harry skimmed his hand lightly down Draco's side to his waist, crushing him against the wall when he tried to twist away.

Draco was breathing hard, alternately tensing and trying to relax. "Harry," he complained.

"Shush. Squirming's good." Harry touched his ear to make him squirm harder.

"Harry!" he said again, tossing his head back. He turned to glare over his shoulder, but that made Harry lose the element of surprise and so Harry turned him firmly forwards again, by the hair. The idea came to him that perhaps a blindfold would be useful… but for some reason the image of Draco blindfolded and writhing pushed all his buttons and he was _almost there_.

He sped up, thinking about it, and reached around to tickle down Draco's ribs. When Draco arched and shuddered, making even more of those beautiful noises, Harry came in his pyjamas.

Afterwards he didn't want to _think_, much less _talk, _about what he had just done. He'd gotten off grinding against Draco – while thinking about _more_ Draco. Disturbing and doubly disturbing.

Draco didn't seem much bothered by the whole thing though, except that he did whine, repeatedly: "Was the tickling really necessary?" while rubbing at his torso to get rid of the touch.

And he also made Harry sleep on the couch.

* * *

><p>TBC.<p>

Next comes nutty plotty happenings for a bit. But more nookie - real, actual nookie! - will come eventually.

Let me know what you think so far!


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I believe I have a slight canon violation here regarding Dumbledore's Will, but it's minor. So too bad. **

* * *

><p>Harry had somehow forgotten to contemplate just how horrible work was going to be the next morning, when he had to go into his supervisor's office and tell him why exactly he was no longer qualified to search the Malfoy place.<p>

He finally managed to get the words out. But they didn't believe him, and they handed him a search order anyway, and it exploded in flames the moment he touched it. "See?" he snarled.

So, the secretary dipped her quill and dutifully entered into the official conflict log: _Harry Potter – ongoing sexual relationship with Draco Malfoy. _

The news circulated through the entire department within thirty seconds, and Harry thought his day couldn't get any worse.

But he should have known better. Now that he wasn't busy with the Malfoy assignment, he was free to do something else. He was handed a job (by a secretary who couldn't stop giggling when she looked at him) that first looked pretty good – go to Paris and check up on an old Grindelwald portrait whose Incarceration charms were starting to weaken. He was excited until the chairman gave him the small print.

"You'll leave your wand here, of course."

Harry frowned. "My wand? You want me to travel without my wand?"

"You're undercover, Potter. Disguised as a Muggle. The French Ministry of Magic _cannot _know that you're there."

"Why?"

The chairman made a face. "They're a bit… touchy regarding that Grindelwald picture," he said carefully. "They seem to think they've got it completely under control by themselves, and they've forbidden foreign governments from sending people in to look at it. It would cause an international _incident _if you were discovered. So: Polyjuice Potion, muggle transportation and a muggle passport. Details are in this file – _yes, _a muggle file, can't have you walking around Paris with a roll of parchment, can we. Get going. Flight leaves tomorrow morning, and I want you all caught up on your reports from last week before you go."

Harry sat down to read.

* * *

><p><strong>DEPARTMENT OF DANGEROUS MAGICAL OBJECTS<strong>

**To: FILE  
>From: Classified<br>Re: Grindelwald painting maintenance**

**MEMORANDUM**

**An unsigned painting of Gellert Grindelwald was found among Albus Dumbledore's possessions after his death, hanging on a wall in his home. Though the inks and artistry suggest it was of Magical origin, the painting was flat and motionless. Experts believe that Dumbledore must have placed some kind of Incarceration charm on it for safety's sake. Since portions of Dumbledore's desk and papers were destroyed by a careless wardbreaker, however, we have been unable to confirm that theory, and unable to find any directions left by Dumbledore for maintaining the charms. **

**As per Dumbledore's last Will, all the artwork in his possession went to a muggle museum in Paris. The French ministry has therefore taken charge of the Grindelwald painting, and refuses to permit examination by foreign authorities.**

**Until further notice, our office policy will be that one agent per month will travel to France, disguised as a Muggle and carrying no Ministry identification of any kind, and examine the portrait to ensure that whatever magic Dumbledore used to restrain it is holding firm despite Dumbledore's death.**

**The portrait is located in the Louvre, where the Mona Lisa is supposed to be. It has been spelled with a weak glamour charm to make it _look _like the Mona Lisa – the French ministry did not want to upset the Muggles by informing them that their favorite painting has been replaced – so agents will need to use some form of anti-glamour lens in order to view it. **

* * *

><p>So, he was going to Paris tomorrow. That meant he had only one night to deal with the fallout from his great "revelation" at work, and that was probably a good thing. Ron and Hermione were probably going to kill him, and at least this way it couldn't be <em>too <em>slow of a death since he had to be on the plane tomorrow.

He left work early, supposedly to pack. (Really, it was because everybody's point-and-whisper routine had gotten on his last nerve and he couldn't take it anymore.)

Oddly, when he got home the wards were stirring. Not really acting up, not the way they would if someone truly unwelcome had tried to get in, but… Harry still opened the door with his wand out and _Protego_ on the tip of his tongue, just in case.

"YOU!" shrieked someone from the foyer. Hermione. She had leaped on him and shaken him half to death before he could even sputter out a shield charm. "What happened to _Malfoy's not my girlfriend_!" she was practically screaming. "Harry! How could you _lie _to us?"

"Forget _lying _to us," Ron said, from the couch. "How could you boink Malfoy, is what I want to know."

"I'm not boinking Malfoy," Harry insisted. "And none of this was my idea. Honest." He sat down, but put his arms up to protect his head when he noticed that Hermione was holding a rolled-up newspaper. "Just let me explain, okay? Hey – did you actually leave work early today for this? _Ow_!"

She bonked him on the head once, then changed her mind and whipped out her wand. "_Incarcerous!_" Once Harry's arms were tied to his sides, she commenced bonking him like a whack-a-mole.

Eventually Ron came and sat at the table too, for a better view. "Is that actually doing anything?" he asked at last.

Harry was about to say no, but Hermione spoke up first. "It's making me feel better!"

So Harry just shrugged and let her bonk herself out.

When she was finally done she growled _relashio_ and sat down as well. "We are supposed to be best friends," she reminded. "How could you keep something like this a _secret_?"

"Because Malfoy is not actually my girlfriend!" Harry finally got out. "Or boyfriend. Or whatever. Okay?" He told them the whole story.

And _then_, of course, Hermione felt compelled to apologize for having treated him like a naughty puppy. But after having apologized, she rolled up the newspaper again and reached across the table to whack him once more. "If he's your friend you should invite him over here sometime," she chided. "He's obviously lonely."

Ron started to whine, but when she turned on him with a terrible glare and a raised newspaper, he shut up. "Invite him over," she ordered Harry. "Tell him we'll all find a way to get along."

"What – now?"

"Yes. Tonight. You're leaving for Paris tomorrow, aren't you? Might as well have a goodbye dinner with your friends. With _all _your friends at once. Instead of hiding packs of them from each other."

Harry would have argued that Malfoy hardly constituted a _pack _and he wasn't hiding anybody from anything, but since she was still holding the newspaper, he just nodded and got out the Floo powder.

* * *

><p>TBC.<p>

Let me know what you think!


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: So this is a monster-length chapter. I couldn't help it. **

* * *

><p>At first Draco resisted the idea of dinner with "a walking textbook and a rabid weasel," but Harry reminded him: "This is all <em>your<em> fault, all because you didn't want me looking through your old underwear drawer or your parents' pantry or whatever. Though how you can justify having privacy issues after making such sweet floor-love to me _without my permission_ is really beyond me."

Draco gave him eyebrows. "Sweet floor-love." Neither of them could quite keep a straight face. "All right," Draco sighed, "I'll come to dinner. But I'll have my wand handy, so you tell the Weasel to play nice."

Harry winced. "I'll tell him, but you can still expect to be hassled a little. Just don't get nasty, all right?"

Draco magicked a halo above his head and gave his very best angelic smile.

* * *

><p>That night he showed up in nice robes and with a bottle of wine, which would have raised enough eyebrows… and he also brought Hermione flowers.<p>

"M-, er… Draco, they're beautiful, thank you" she gushed. "And let's first names, shall we? If we're going to be…?"

"Fine by me. Hermione," Draco said, with a smile that was cordial at least. He turned to Ron and raised his eyebrows.

"Hell, no," Ron answered the unspoken question cheerfully. "Don't think you're getting past _me _with that fake charm of yours."

"Fake charm? No no, Weasley, these are _manners_." Draco smiled at him serenely. The line was familiar, the words and the delivery both, but it took Harry a moment to place it. Ah – it was what Dumbledore had said to the Carrows the night he died. _Jokes? No no, these are manners._

And it had stuck with Draco all this time. Harry shook off a feeling of sadness and said just, "Ron, seriously."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh, all _right._ Cmon in."

Hermione had disappeared into the kitchen, and now poked her head out brandishing a spatula. "Food's almost ready!"

Draco stared after her once she had gone. "She's cooking the Muggle way?"

"Yeah, she is," Ron said, with more than a hint of challenge. "Why?"

"Can I watch?"

"_What_?"

Hermione spoke up from the kitchen. "There's nothing to see; I'm almost done!" she called out. "Everybody sit!"

Harry gestured to the table. "Maybe next time," he told Draco. "She does it sometimes, when she's in the mood. I'm not allowed in though; I'm a disaster in the kitchen whether or not I use magic." He sat down.

Draco pulled out a chair… but Ron darted forward and threw himself down into it first. "Sorry, _Draco_," he said sweetly . "That's where _I_ usually sit."

Draco heaved a sigh and stepped around the table. He pulled out a different chair and was about to sit down, when: "Wait!" Ron called. "Don't. That's where Hermione usually sits."

So Draco heaved an even bigger sigh and moved to the fourth chair. He started to pull it out and then paused to glare. "You're going to tell me: _don't, that's where Harry usually sits_, aren't you."

Ron smirked. "Beat me to it, mate."

Draco smirked better. "Get used to it." And he sat in the chair anyway.

Harry flashed Draco a grin. He was shocked at how well Draco was managing, taking Ron's semijoking hostility completely in stride. He'd had no idea any of the Malfoys had social skills beyond bullying the weak and sucking up to the powerful. Though in retrospect that was ridiculous – _Draco _hadn't grown up sleeping in a cupboard; he'd probably been attending parties and whatnot since he was a baby.

"What?" Draco snapped at him, and mimed a halo. "I told you. Relax."

Harry felt safe enough to get up and help Hermione serve the food (the only kitchen-related task he was ever allowed to perform).

Once they were all seated he prevented awkward silence by telling them all about the Grindelwald portrait, and asking if they had any idea why the job had been assigned to D-mob instead of to the Cultural Relics people. "After all," he grumbled, "It's just a picture."

Hermione shook her head. "It's a _magical _picture, Harry. That means it thinks, it talks… we're trying to wipe Grindelwald's philosophy off the face of the earth, so the last thing we want is some charismatic young-"

"Then why not destroy it?" Ron interrupted, as he emptied the entire bowl of potatoes onto his plate so that there would be none left for Draco. Then he passed him the empty bowl, just to rub it in. "Just blast the damn thing and be done. And _don't _tell me it can't be destroyed," he said over her; "It _can't _be more difficult than all those bloody horcruxes."

Draco began helping himself to part of the potato mountain on Ron's plate without comment. Ron attempted to stop him with his spoon, but Draco brought his own spoon into play to parry. Harry managed to keep his laughter silent.

"Of course it can," Hermione answered, doing her best to ignore the scuffle. "If Dumbledore kept it his whole life, chances are he really _liked _the thing… he probably warded it against destruction. And do you really fancy trying to break a ward set up by Albus Dumbledore? Without even knowing what spells he used? And- and _stop that!_" The spoon-fighting had finally exhausted her patience. "Or I'll get the newspaper, Ron, so help me I will."

Ron put his silverware down at once.

And Draco retreated back to his quarter of the table. "Fair point, Hermione" he agreed. "_I_ certainly wouldn't touch any of Dumbledore's wards. Weasley, pass me the salt, would you?"

"All right, so maybe you can't destroy it," Ron went on. He picked up the salt… and set it down as far _away _from Draco as he could reach. "But I bet people could set up their _own _wards on it, on top of Dumbledore's. Right?"

"Ron, think about it," Hermione said, "Do you really imagine-…"

As they bickered Draco rolled his eyes, pushed up his sleeve so that his robes wouldn't trail into the food, and reached all the way across the table to retrieve the salt himself.

Hermione broke off mid-sentence with a gasp. Her hands flew to her mouth.

Harry followed her eyes and realized that Draco's _MUDBLOOD _scar must be right in front of her. Draco froze a moment and then withdrew fast, sitting down in a graceless rush with his arm tight to his chest.

Ron, who couldn't see what the fuss was about, drew his wand anyway because of the look Hermione was wearing.

Harry beat him to it and cried _Expelliarmus!_ before anyone could do anything rash. Ron's wand flew into the air and so did the fork Hermione was holding. She looked up as it fell towards her face, but Draco's hand shot out and swatted it neatly out of the air.

Despite himself Harry took a moment to grin and think: _thank goodness for seeker reflexes._

Then he got ready to referee a very unpleasant conversation.

* * *

><p>Hermione and Draco both seemed to want to consider their words, but Ron didn't have any such concern. "What's that on your arm?" he demanded right away.<p>

"What does it look like?" Draco snapped.

"Trophy?"

"Punishment."

"By who?"

"Me. For just standing there." He shrugged and turned to face Hermione. In one breath he said: "I know all your Gryffindor friends would've probably done something useful – especially these two prats here – but I don't have nearly their stones or their deathwish and you're well within your rights to hate me. It's fine."

Hermione sat silently for a moment, then took out her wand. Everyone at the table winced, but all she did was Summon her fork off the floor with it and cast a cleaning charm. "I don't hate you," she said to Draco without looking at him. She poked around a bit at her plate. "Everybody eat, or your food will get cold."

Harry and Ron both dutifully started eating again, glad to have dodged any further awkward talk.

But Draco frowned at her. "That's it? No way. Hermione, what?" he pressed.

"Nothing."

"Bollocks. You say it," he ordered. "Whatever it is."

She shook her head and for a moment it seemed like she wasn't going to tell, but finally she said, almost a whisper: "That night. I heard what your father said to you. What they wanted you to do."

Draco sucked in his breath and looked away.

"You looked sick," Hermione said flatly. "And desperate. I knew then that you weren't where you were because you wanted to be, and I didn't hate you after that." There was a moment of silence and then she added, with regret: "Though it _was_ rather cowardly of you, just standing there."

Draco took out his wand and, as ill-mannered as it was to use magic at the table, Summoned himself the salt. Then he laid his wand carefully by his plate, in easy reach. "Not that I don't deserve that," he said to Hermione, "But I've already heard it from Potter here, and the next person who says it is probably going to get hexed. Fair warning."

"Hold up," Ron complained. "So, _I_ don't get a turn to call you names? Even though everyone else did?"

"Ron," Harry hissed. Ron was only needling – there was no malice in it – but still it was liable to provoke a fight...

Or perhaps Draco was more perceptive than people thought. He drew himself up and sassed, without anger: "That's right, Weasel, you don't. What are you going to do about it?"

"Call you names anyway?"

"Try."

"Draco!" It was Hermione's best schoolteacher tone. He made a face but shut up.

Eating resumed and it seemed for a while that everyone was behaving, but eventually Harry noticed that an inordinate amount of kicking was going on under the table. Judging by the respective amounts of wincing, Ron seemed to be losing (or maybe Draco just had a better poker face?).

Well, Harry couldn't have _that. _He caught Ron's eye and mouthed: _he's ticklish. _He mimed a pinchypinch and jerked his head in Draco's direction.

Ron grinned and looked back down at his plate. A moment later Draco shouted in surprise and jumped up, yelping "_Weasley!_". In the process he almost knocked over his wine glass, and Ron darted forward to catch it…

Except in the process Ron knocked over his _own _glass, and when Harry jumped to steady it he knocked over the whole bottle.

Wine spilled everywhere. Draco snapped "Potter!" at him and Hermione hurried to right the bottle as fast as possible. Ron pointed next to him. "_He_ started it."

"Me?" Draco squeaked. "You _pinched _me!"

"Says who?"

Hermione covered her face with her hands. "We are supposed to be _adults!"_

The boys all tried to look serious.

"Good grief." She glared at them all and said, "Since it appears we are now done eating, why don't you all go into the other room _and behave yourselves_ while I clean up."

Draco looked puzzled for only a moment before understanding dawned. "No – don't," he said. "I'll call an elf. I promise they're not overworked or oppressed or whatever," he said over Hermione, when she opened her mouth. "It'll take them five minutes." When she finally nodded he gave a sharp clap and called "_BARNEY!_"

"Barney?" Harry said, startled as a taller, burlier elf appeared. "What about Floppy?"

Ron snorted, but kept any comments about the Malfoys' army of house-elves to himself.

Draco gestured to the elf, who began cleaning, and then shook his head. "Floppy's just for me. Not for company."

At that, Ron _couldn't _keep quiet. "You've got your own _private _house-elf?" he said, laughing. "And what, he's too good for us?"

"She's too good for _you, _Weasley, though I understand why you're so jealous considering your family hasn't got any house-elves at all," Draco snapped. This time he wasn't playing around. "Fortunately you've got a girlfriend who fills the role quite nicely."

"Draco!" Harry yelled, shocked at the sudden change in attitude. Before he could do anything else, though, Ron had shoved him out of the way and backed Draco all the way up against the wall.

"Nice try, you nasty little creep," Ron breathed right in his face, "But I am _onto you._" He held Draco to the wall with one hand on his chest and turned to look at Hermione over his shoulder. "You were right, Hermione – cowardly and desperate." He turned back to Draco, eyes narrowed. "Mind telling me what's got you so afraid this time? You're acting like a cornered little ferret all of a sudden and I can't for the life of me figure out why."

"Somebody call the _Prophet _for this one," Draco snarled back at him. "Ron Weasley can't figure something out! Dear God, what a shocker."

Ron looked as smug as Harry had ever seen him. "Go on. The nastier you get, the more right I am."

Hermione stepped in. "Ron. Enough. Let it be. The two of you."

"That's right." Harry finally managed to speak up. He took Ron by the arm and tugged him away. "Draco's private elf is a little old and ridiculous, that's all," he explained. "He's probably just sensitive about her. Okay?"

"Shut it!" Draco slapped the wall hard. "_Floppy's fine_!"

And all of a sudden with a loud _crack, _there Floppy was. "Master Draco called?" she said hopefully, grasping for his hand.

"No-… No, Master Draco _didn't _call, you little moron," Draco grumbled, tugging his hand free. He bent down and hollered into her face: "_GO ON HOME._"

At the dismissal, Floppy's ears wilted and tears sprang up. Draco immediately heaved a sigh and rubbed her back. "STOP CRYING," he said, and she wiped her face with her ears and tried to smile. "GOOD GIRL. NOW GO HOME."

Once the elf had gone Draco looked around at everyone. Hermione was frowning. "What's the matter with her?" she asked.

"I told you, Floppy's old and practically deaf, that's all," Harry answered for him.

But Draco was looking troubled. "N-nothing," he said. His voice was too high. "Nothing's wrong, what do you mean?"

"I _mean_, she's got a glamour on her – and not even a very good one. Apparently Harry doesn't notice these things; I guess all elves just look the same to him." She hadn't taken her eyes off Draco's face. "Why is your elf disguised?"

"It's not… it's nothing." Draco licked his lips. "FLOPPERS! CMERE!" When the elf reappeared he scooped her up and held her, petting her restlessly. She purred like a kitten and curled tighter in his arms. "Floppy's fine."

Hermione sighed. "You do realize you couldn't look more _not _fine if you were _trying_?"

"You shut your hole and you leave my elf alone!" His voice had risen in volume and pitch both. Floppy cuddled him and turned to scowl at Hermione.

Hermione scowled back, and showed no signs of giving up. So Ron sighed and advised, "Word to the wise, Malfoy: she's going to find out eventually."

She watched the nervous way his hands moved over the elf and tried to soften her voice. "Draco? Come on, I… I have a thing about elves, all right, I worry about them. Please just tell me. It's okay."

Draco stared at the ceiling as if caught in mid-eyeroll. "It's not okay, actually," he said shortly. "Floppy's not old. She just wears a glamour because she's got horrible surgery scars. And she can't hear properly because – as I've told Harry – you can't use human medical spells on an elf. There are side effects. All right?"

Hermione's voice was low and quiet. "What _happened _to Floppy to make her need spells and surgery?"

Draco suddenly looked down from the ceiling and glared into her eyes. "Exactly what you're thinking."

Her mouth opened but nothing came out.

"I was five, okay?" Draco said. "I didn't… know."

Hermione was silent a moment longer. Then, breathlessly, she guessed: "You saw your father abusing the elves all the time."

"Oh, stuff it – my father doesn't _abuse elves_." Draco shrugged. "But yeah, he'd slap them or punt them or something sometimes. I was a kid, and when I slapped one nothing happened. Didn't seem to bother her at all. So, I picked her up and threw her down the stairs." He hugged the elf and murmured to her: "Floppy go bump-bump."

"Bump-bump!" Floppy agreed happily.

"Apparently baby elves are really fragile. She was such a wreck that my parents wanted to put her to sleep. But I pitched a huge fit. I cried like a girl. They let me keep her." His voice was completely flat, and Harry felt bad enough to reach over and squeeze his shoulder.

Even Hermione seemed to thaw out. "I'm sorry, Draco," she said, and tried to give Floppy a smile. "It's sweet that you've done right by her though. Since then."

"Yeah, well. Merlin knows why. My parents are right, she _is _useless. Scrambled like an egg. I've caught her trying to wash my socks with toothpaste."

"Toothpaste!" Floppy's ears perked up and she waved her hand. A soft _pop_, and she plucked a bottle of toothpaste out of the air and handed it over.

"Thank you, Floppy. Thank you very much." Draco looked over her head and mouthed to Hermione: _see?_

* * *

><p>Later on, after Draco had left for the evening, Hermione's verdict was: "Well. He's certainly interesting. We'll have to have him over again once you get back from Paris."<p>

Ron's was: "That boy is carrying around a big bag of crazy. I never thought I'd say this about _anyone_, Harry, but… you should consider a girlfriend instead. It'd be less of a headache."

* * *

><p><strong>TBC. <strong>

**So, it seems like Hermione's idea of being friends includes forcibly getting a person to open up to her, while Ron's idea consists of maintaining the most comfortable vibe possible, which in Draco's case means exchanging a constant stream of insults. I dunno.**

**Paris will be interesting, I promise. Let me know what you think!**


	11. Chapter 11

Armed with a suitcase full of Polyjuice Potion and a good wizarding camera – a Delphi 3000, the only version with an anti-glamour lens that was small enough to fit in your pocket – Harry navigated the muggle airport without difficulty and flew to Paris. He didn't speak much French, but then neither did most of the other tourists who were bound for the Louvre. He slipped into a tour group and followed them quietly until they took him where he wanted to go.

The museum was packed, and Harry was certain that the Mona Lisa room would be so full that he couldn't even get close enough to the painting to see it – much less to take out his camera and look through it long enough to determine that the stupid Grindelwald was still keeping its stupid mouth shut.

So, he ducked away from the tour before they reached it, and hid in a bathroom. He covered himself in the Invisibility Cloak and balanced himself carefully on the divider between stalls and prepared to just read a book for the next few hours until the museum closed up.

Eventually the crowds thinned, the janitors came, and Harry figured it was time to venture out. He walked through the abandoned museum as quietly as he could, and encountered nobody until he reached the Mona Lisa room itself.

Odd – there was a guard there, still alert and apparently actively guarding.

Harry edged around him carefully through the doorway, and tiptoed across the floor. He was almost there when the guard's walkie-talkie crackled, and he froze.

The voice on the other end said something long and in French. Harry kicked himself for not having learned just a little more of the language.

_Frenchfrench, _the guard grumbled back.

_Frenchsomethingsomething?_ asked the voice.

"Non," the guard said clearly, and that, at least, Harry could understand. A moment later the guard heaved a sigh and insisted: _he didn't come. _That beginner course was worth something, then. So far Harry had understood one line out of quatre.

_Frenchfrenchsomethingfrench_, snarled the voice on the other end. The conversation continued for a while and Harry couldn't follow at all. Then, finally, the guard said again, almost shouting: _HE DIDN'T COME! ALL DAY!_ And then: _YES, yes I am sure. I have a picture!_

Harry meant to keep his distance. He did. He didn't _mean _to look for trouble…

But before he could help himself he was creeping up to peek at what the guard was holding. When he saw it his blood ran cold – it was a picture of _him, _in his muggle disguise.

They knew that he was coming. Somebody here was waiting for him.

_Frenchfrenchfrench, _barked the voice from walkie-talkie.

The guard shrugged. _Tomorrow,_ he answered. _At the airport._ _We can frenchsomethingfrench him at the airport._

Harry hadn't caught all of the conversation, but… from what he did know, he doubted very much that he should go ahead and let people frenchsomethingfrench him.

* * *

><p>He didn't have his wand and he hadn't brought Floo powder, or an owl, or any other form of magical communication. Fortunately, though, Hermione's parents had a muggle phone. He called them, apologized for the bother, and had them pass on a message for Hermione to call Harry's hotel room as soon as possible.<p>

She rang within an hour. With Ron. The three of them put their heads together and agreed that yes, D-mob had apparently been infiltrated by someone, and no, it was not safe for Harry to try and travel home using a D-mob alias.

Ron suggested that one of them fly to France with Polyjuice Potion and a fresh passport, but Hermione nixed the idea at once. "Yours and Ron's passport both come from the Ministry," she reminded, "So we really can't trust them. We need to borrow from somebody who got their papers through other channels entirely."

"Your parents?" Harry suggested. "I hate to involve them, but…"

"They don't travel. No passports." She sighed. "Harry, do you think…?"

"Malfoy," Ron agreed in the background. "How much d'you want to bet that his family takes care of their own papers. And that his passport's got the Dark Mark stamped on the cover."

Harry just groaned.

"All right, Harry, we'll Floo him. You stay right where you are, we'll call you back in a few moments. Bye."

Harry hung up the phone and hid his head in a pillow. People were trying to kill him. Again. And for no reason this time! He didn't give a flying fuck about the Grindelwald picture. He would _kill _Dumbledore – if Dumbledore wasn't already dead – for leaving this mess behind.

When the phone rang again he picked it up wearily. "Well?"

"What? Hello? Potter, is that you?" It was Draco.

"Yeah, of course it's me. What are you doing there?"

Harry heard Ron call out in the background: "He's saying he's going to leave you to rot!"

"Shut it, Weasley! Hey. Hello. Harry, can you hear me?"

"Yeah. Yes. I can hear you, Draco." It struck Harry suddenly. "Have you never used a telephone before?"

"Oh, sod off. Listen. I didn't say I won't help you. Of course I'll help you. What I said was, I'm not lending my family's identities to these two _clowns _over here. You tell me where you are, and I'll come get you myself."

"Um." If Draco had been offended at the idea that he might not know how to use a telephone, he wasn't going to like this much either. "Have you ever traveled the Muggle way before?"

"Oh, sod _off_!"

There was the sound of some kind of combat, and then Ron came on the line. "Harry? HARRY?" He was practically shouting. Clearly, he was not so great with a telephone either. "Harry, it's Ron. RON."

"Yeah, Ron," he said wearily. "I hear you." Pureblooded wizards ought all to be strangled. "You can… talk normally. It's fine."

"Okay." Ron's voice dropped at once. "Listen. I cast a silencing charm so they can't hear us. What I want to say is: I know you're having fun with Malfoy these days, and that's great and all, but the fun and games are over now. Your life could be on the line with this. I think I should come instead. Me or Hermione."

"Draco will be fine," Harry said sharply.

"Drop it. He can't hear you."

Harry hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"Hundred percent. I can see them yelling at me outside the bubble, but we can't hear each other."

"Okay." Harry still dropped his voice to almost a whisper. "Then, you're right, it'd be a different story if this were dangerous or difficult. But you'd be noticed if you missed work right now, and it's not worth it for this – he just has to bring me a bloody passport. Right? I think it's safe to trust him that far at least. I've been living at his house for weeks, and it's been absolutely fine. He hasn't done anything funny at all." _Except for flinging me down on the ground and coming all over me._

It was silent for a moment. Finally Harry said: "Ron? You still there?"

Ron sighed. "Yeah. Yeah… all right. But promise me that if it _does _get difficult, or dangerous, or if you have even the _slightest _doubt that Malfoy is on the level or that he can handle this, I want you to call back and I'll be on the next plane. I'll conjure papers."

"Ron that's _illegal._ Terribly, terribly illegal."

"I don't bloody care. Promise me right now that you'll call me if you get into trouble."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I promise."

"All right, then. I'll send stupid bloody Malfoy. But if it goes wrong, in _any way, _you are never going to hear the end of it. Not to mention I'll have his ugly little head on a pike. Hear me?"

"I hear you, Ron."

* * *

><p>TBC.<p>

Well of _course _it's going to go wrong!

Thanks for all the lovely comments – they really get me psyched to keep posting.


	12. Chapter 12

In order to throw his enemies off the scent, Harry did actually go to the airport the next morning and check in at the front desk. He timed it so that his Polyjuice disguise would wear off a few minutes later and then, once he was Harry Potter again, headed to the Arrivals section. He found the spot where all the drivers waited with name-cards for their customers, and skulked around waiting for his friend.

But when Draco came through the doors and saw him there he almost hit the roof. "Harry are you _out of your mind_," he hissed. "Get out of here! Are you mental? They'll _find _you here, they're looking-"

"It's better they think I'm here, rather than knowing I'm not where I'm supposed to be," Harry argued. "Once they know I'm on to them they'll start really hunting. Anyways they're not looking for _me, _they're looking for… for Bartholomew whatever, whatever my Muggle name was."

"You're Harry Potter; people are always looking for you." Draco was scanning the Arrivals hall and finally chose his direction. "This way. Bathroom. Now. You're changing."

"You mean… Polyjuice?" Harry asked as he was shoved along.

"No, I mean changing into a _fucking ballerina tutu!_" Draco fairly tossed him into the bathroom and then into the large wheelchair-stall. "Shut your stupid face and drink this. I've got my father's passport right here."

Harry did as he was told and waited for the change to rip through him. Once it was done and he'd felt his body re-form, he noticed with some surprise that even though Lucius was supposed to have several inches on his son, he was now standing directly eye-level with Draco.

_Directly _eye-level.

"Wait a second – I'm _you_," he realized, touching his hair. "Draco, you idiot, you were supposed to give me Lucius-juice!"

"You think I'm going to let _you_ impersonate my father?" Draco held up a second flask and uncorked it. "Cheers."

* * *

><p>They changed clothes into what Draco had brought. They cut Lucius's long hair off and flushed it down the toilet. They stood in front of the mirror to get used to themselves for a moment, and then strode out of the bathroom with Draco in the lead.<p>

Once they were in a taxicab Harry thought to ask where they were going. "I didn't bring any luggage I care about," he said. "We could just fly right from here…?"

"No." Draco couldn't stop staring at his own reflection in the window. "That's what you're _expected _to do. Better to be unpredictable."

"Well… we have to get home somehow. Are we going to Apparate?"

"No. I figured from your mission description that the French Ministry has a way of detecting the work of Ollivander wands in France. So, I didn't even bring mine. Or yours."

Harry's jaw dropped. "You came without a wand?"

"Don't sound so surprised," Draco said tightly. "I'm not _completely_ incapable of being brave." He smirked. "Besides, I have a plan, and it doesn't require wands at all."

Harry waited, but when he showed no signs of elaborating finally prompted: "Well? What is it… Dad?"

"Are you looking to get ji- er… I mean, punched?"

"Honestly. What is it?"

"Not here. Wait til we're in private. For all we know this driver not only speaks English, but also is a spy. For _them_."

"Whoever _them _is, anyway," Harry muttered, but kept quiet for the rest of the ride.

* * *

><p>The made it to Harry's hotel room and waited for the Polyjuice to wear off. Once they were themselves again they flopped down on opposite sides of the bed and began individually bemoaning their sad fates and the apparent universe-wide conspiracy designed to deprive them of happiness.<p>

When they had finally complained themselves to a standstill, Harry looked over and adjusted his glasses. "Seriously," he said. "What's the plan?"

"I worried they could be watching all the Paris-London airflights. So, I got us tickets for a night train to Berlin and we'll fly home from there."

Harry blinked. "First off there's no such word as _airflights,_" he said. "And second, that's brilliant. What time do we leave?"

"Around eleven. And again: don't sound so bloody surprised. Of course it's brilliant."

* * *

><p>They arrived at the train station over two hours early, pockets full of Polyjuice but not yet disguised. They planned to get something to eat at one of the restaurants surrounding the place, but discovered that their options were fancy restaurants for which they were not dressed, or a dark little pub with little food but an impressive liquor menu.<p>

They chose the latter. After an hour, feeling light and giddy and extremely intelligent, Harry and Draco were propped up against the bar ordering drinks for not only themselves but also a pair of girls next to them, backpackers of some brand who spoke funny English and wouldn't tell where they had come from. Harry couldn't place their accent and was trying to guess. They were teasing him about his lack of success. Draco finally interrupted the game to inform them that they were Muggles, which they found hilarious.

"Yes, we're Muggles, from Muggleopia," the taller one agreed, and put her arm around her friend. "Excuse us a moment, would you?"

As they lurched off to the bathroom Harry watched them longingly. "They're pretty. I think they're pretty, Draco, do you think they're pretty?"

Draco snorted. His eyes were half-closed. "I think you're drunk. I'd forgotten how bad you are at this."

"At what? I think the tall one likes you." The girl kept touching Harry on the shoulder, which _should _have been a good sign, but he had a strange certainty that it was really Draco she was after. "She keeps looking at you."

"You know what I think?" Draco said, but before he could finish the thought, the tall girl was back. Alone.

"What happened to Maringly?" Harry asked. The girl's name had been Mary or Winnie or Ashley or something. He wasn't sure. He thought he'd covered all the bases.

Tall Girl looked at him a bit strangely. "Melanie went on without me," she said after a moment. She reached for the straw in Harry's drink and drew it towards her. "But I thought I'd stay with you two. If you'll have me." She smiled and took a sip, only it really wasn't a _sip _so much as an excuse to make nice to the straw.

Harry looked up at Draco for help and discovered that Draco did not at all seem surprised by her.

"We'd love to have you," Draco told her, leaning close to be heard over the music. "Sadly we've got a train to catch, though, so we can't hang about all night. We may have to skip a few steps."

"Steps to what?" she teased, and the next thing Harry knew she was up against a wall, one leg thrown over Draco's hip while he held her face and kissed her.

_Hey, _he meant to say, _how'd that happen_, but as he tugged on Draco's sleeve to try and talk he suddenly realized that Draco might not appreciate being interrupted.

Tall Girl, whose name Harry had missed completely, laughed when Draco pulled away. The floor rocked and Harry had to lean back against the wall next to her. He groped for her hand in order to help steady himself. His vision had gone bad but he thought he was still hearing all right, so perhaps if he closed his eyes and concentrated on that he would be able to muddle through okay.

"I don't _believe _you!" the girl was saying, giggling, and Draco was insisting "We haven't. We _haven't_, honest," but Harry could hear that he was laughing too.

Boo to being left out of the joke! Harry summoned up all his energy to speak. "Draco. Haven't what?"

Then somebody was patting him on the cheek. "Harry. Open your eyes and I'll show you."

"No you _won't_!" Tall Girl was delighted.

"Show me what?" Harry opened his eyes with immense effort and there was a pale blob in front of him that he managed to identify as Draco's face. Then somebody took his glasses off and the blob got blobbier and he couldn't see a _damn _thing and then there was something in his mouth and it was a kiss.

Harry did what the tongue seemed to want. It was good. When it finally pulled away he felt annoyed and cheated. "Hey," he grumbled. "Cmere."

He reached out blindly but then his arms were full of something giggling and floral-scented. The girl used the same deodorant as Hermione but she tasted like alcoholic mint. Once or twice she tried to say something to him, and he caught _so hot _but their teeth were clacking together and then someone was yelling at him in French.

He tried to explain that he didn't speak French but then he was outside, stumbling, almost to the ground except Draco caught him and held him upright.

"Where am I?" he tried to say.

"Shut up, we just got thrown out. Tossed to the curb by Muggles, I can't believe this," Draco said, and Harry wondered where someone had got to, oh yes the girl. _Where's the girl, _he tried to say. "Forget about her," Draco answered his drunken mumblings. "We have a train to catch."

* * *

><p>Getting on the train was <em>miserable<em>. Draco first made Harry throw up in the gutter, drink a carton of milk and then throw up _again_, and only then fed him the Polyjuice Potion. Mutating his body in that terrible drunken state wrung Harry out even more than usual, so that he could barely stand up on his own.

Draco, who seemed much less affected by what they'd consumed, dragged him onto the train and apologized to the conductor in smooth flowing French for the state of his "son". He dragged Harry along down the corridor and found their compartment, but once he'd opened it he stopped being the responsible one and threw a tantrum.

"What is this!" he shrieked. "I ordered a private room! This isn't any kind of _room _at all, this is-… this is a _cupboard_!" He threw his luggage and kicked the walls.

Harry tossed his bag up onto the top bunk, but missed and it fell on the floor. "I think it looks quite cozy, actually," he slurred. All the pleasant feelings had by now gone away and he was beginning to feel very very sick. "But is there somewhere for me to puke in?"

"Oh Merlin no."

"S'alright, I'll find the bathroom." Harry opened the door and stumbled off on his own. It took him some time to make his way down the corridor and operate the handle on the door, and by the time he returned Draco was already asleep. On the bottom bunk. Harry looked at the ladder a moment and decided against it. "Move," he said. He got no answer, and so he just flopped down anyway and tried to shove him over.

"Mrrrrrr," was Draco's opinion on that.

The bunks were not designed for two people and Harry had to wrap his arms and legs around his bunkmate in order not to fall off. Draco was warm but he didn't smell right, and Harry realized that he must still be wearing Lucius, and the idea of falling asleep hugging Lucius Malfoy was pretty disgusting but the world was spinning far too hard for him to try to move.

* * *

><p>He woke up feeling sicker than he ever had in his life. Someone was holding a flask to his lips. "Drink this. Hangover Potion. Cmon, it'll help. Harry. Drink it."<p>

When he finally cooperated the liquid burned, but it instantly settled his stomach. And soothed his headache. He opened his eyes and realized light was coming in through the window.

"Come on, we're nearly there," Draco said. He was disguised as Lucius again but still it was clear he was in rough shape. "Get up and take your Polyjuice. The last thing we want is to make the conductor remember us, and you showing up as a sober you instead of an abominably-drunk me is probably memorable."

Harry did as he was told. "Where are we going?" he asked as they left their compartment. "Straight to the airport?"

"First a hotel. We can't show up at an airport looking like this. Would _you _let us on a plane?"

* * *

><p>TBC.<p>

Next chapter is some Harry/Draco bonding-type stuff. Because I think they're sort of adorable together.

And yes, we will find out what happened to the Grindelwald painting before too long also.

Let me know what you think so far!


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: This chapter was supposed to have one or two more scenes attached to it, but they're not ready yet and this part is, so here's this somewhat short bit and more will be forthcoming soon.**

* * *

><p>They took a hotel room and argued over the shower. Harry finally won, by demanding: "Don't you want to wait until you've changed back to yourself? Or do you really want to see your dad naked?"<p>

At that, Draco covered his (borrowed) eyes and waved Harry along.

Harry pranced on past him into the bathroom with his best Malfoy smirk.

Once inside, he turned the shower on, but decided to wait before stripping down because it would be a bit awkward to do so in Draco's body. While he waited for the Polyjuice to wear off, he amused himself by making faces at himself in the mirror.

He puffed up his cheeks and squinted. He made the Malfoy sneer while picking his nose. He crossed his eyes and lolled his tongue out. That was his favorite. To complete the look he wet his hands and went to spike up his hair… but as he did, he felt something strange on Draco's scalp. Some kind of ridge, hidden an inch or two past his hairline.

He stepped closer to the mirror and moved the hair around to get a better look. "Hey, what's that on your head?" he called. "Have you got a scar?"

"A what? Oh, yeah. It's back under my hair though, nobody ever sees it. Wait a bit – are you in there checking me out? Harry!"

Harry winced and stepped away from the mirror. "Sorry, sorry. I was just waiting to shower until I'm me again."

"Shouldn't be long. I've turned already."

A few moments later he felt the telltale tingling beginning, so he started taking off his clothes. When he pulled his shirt over his head he _just _had time to catch sight of Draco's chest in the mirror before the change really took hold. There was something odd there – lines of bright silver against the white of Draco's skin – but before he could get a closer look, the disguise had melted away and he was just Harry again, staring into the mirror quizzically and squinting because he needed his glasses.

Scars, it had looked like. Huge, ugly scars, the kind wizards rarely had because nonmagic cuts were child's play for a mediwitch, and wizarding medicine had mostly caught up with the magic that did worse things.

"Draco, what happened?" he called through the door, curious. "You've got-…" All of a sudden his memory caught up with him and he saw a flash of Draco on the tiles of the sixth-floor bathroom, streaming blood after…

He yanked the door open. "Draco. Did _I_ do that?"

Draco looked confused and his eyes flickered just a moment down Harry's body. "Do what?" he asked, flushing a little. "And, d'you mind putting some clothes on?"

"Hold on." Harry noticed the blush, but they would talk about that later. This was more important. "This," he said, gesturing to his own chest – which, being his own, was now scarless. "Did I do it? Is that what I-… _this,_" he repeated, when Draco still looked confused. He stepped up and yanked Draco's shirt up to see the marks.

"Hey- what are you-… _oh._ That." Draco stopped fighting. "Yeah. Yeah, that was you. Snape said it was an accident," he added to fill the silence. "Though how you can _accidentally _curse somebody with Sectumsempra is beyond me."

"I didn't… it _was _an accident. I mean, I'd only just found the spell and I didn't know what it did." Harry swallowed. Draco moved to pull his shirt down again but Harry batted his hands away. "Wait."

Draco waited, holding his shirt out of the way. Blushing more than ever. "Handsome, isn't it," he said tightly. He backed away a step and sat down on the bed. "You do good work."

Harry took a close look at the marks. Three slashes, one of which stretched from Draco's shoulder to cross his far nipple and end in his ribs. "If Snape hadn't been there with that countercurse you would've died," he said. Things had happened so fast that year and he'd never taken the time to sit down and think about it before.

"Yeah well, given the year I was having I probably wouldn't have cared."

"Draco…" Harry wanted his apology to be accepted, not brushed off, but he had no idea how to force conversation without making Draco feel cornered. He looked uncomfortable enough already.

Uncomfortable, and also blushing. Suddenly Harry knew how to hold him still: he stepped up fast and dropped to his knees in front of him. He put one hand on Draco's leg and reached out to trace the scars gently. As he'd expected, the touch froze Draco stiff. "I am so, _so_ sorry," he said softly. "I would never have done this on purpose."

Draco finally let out the breath he'd been holding. "I know." He unclenched his hands from his lap and brushed fingers over Harry's forehead. "It's better-looking than yours, anyway."

"Stop joking." Harry ducked away and, because eye contact was too difficult, ended up staring at Draco's knee instead. "I could have _killed_ you. You should be furious at me."

"I got over it."

Harry hissed in frustration. "Why won't you let me apologize?"

"I don't know. No – really," he insisted, when Harry jerked his head up to glare. "I really don't know. Now will you please go and put clothes on?" He finally tugged his shirt back down, and ran his hand through his hair.

The gesture reminded Harry: "And the one on your head – did I do that too?"

He would have reached out to touch the scar himself, but Draco beat him to it. "What – this here? No, that wasn't you." His mouth twisted into a rather dark smile. "That was from the Floppy thing. Don't worry about it."

Harry frowned. "Floppy? How did she…?"

"No-… you idiot," Draco said, almost fondly, "Don't you know anything? House-elves can't hurt their masters. _I_ did it. You know, like the…" he tapped his _MUDBLOOD _scar.

"You mean you did it to yourself?" Harry froze. "Draco, do you… do you do things like that often?" He tried to proceed as carefully as possible; it really was none of his business and it was probably going to make Draco mad. "I mean, when you get angry, is that something you…"

"I was _five,_ remember? I don't do it anymore."

"Really?" Harry said, poking at his forearm.

"All right, I don't do it _often_ anymore," Draco admitted. "That was a special occasion."

Harry tried to envision a tiny Draco having a temper tantrum, but he revised his mental image of out-of-control sparks and spells when he remembered: "People don't have wands when they're five. What happened?"

"I put my head through a wall. It was a _weak_ wall," he protested when Harry gasped. Then he laughed. "Still took a couple of tries, though. And that's when they decided I could keep the elf."

"_Draco._"

"Oh, relax. I'm fine."

"You're _not _fine, you're… you're not," Harry breathed. "You can't go around hurting yourself. That's not healthy."

Draco shrugged. "You get in less trouble for hurting yourself than for hurting other people," he pointed out peacefully. "And it does wonders for using up your temper. You should try it sometime. _After _you take your shower," he added. "Which is now going to be a cold shower, since Muggle hot water tends to run out and you've used ours all up talking."

Harry understood that the conversation was now Over. He did his very very best to respect that, and made it all the way to the bathroom doorway before he couldn't help himself. "Listen," he said. "No more banging your head into walls. Please promise me."

"I promise."

That was too easy. "And… and no more… with the wand, either."

"_That_ I can't promise. Sorry. Now get in your shower. And also, I'll need to use your t-toothbrush." He stumbled over the unfamiliar word. "I don't have one."

"Sure, sure, of course. But Draco…"

Draco glared and ticked points off on his fingers. "Shut up. Shower. Toothbrush."

* * *

><p>TBC.<p>

Ok, next chapter is mostly nutty plotty. Let me know what you think!


	14. Chapter 14

They made it onto their plane without any problems; Harry showed the Draco passport and did his best to imitate the bored, arrogant expression he was wearing in the photo. (Draco glared at him, imitating Lucius's cold stately manner without any trouble at all.)

When they got off the plane in London, though, a girl rushed past them to greet her boyfriend who had come to meet her. As the couple hugged and sucked face right there in front of everyone, suddenly one of Harry's hazier memories from the night before returned to him. "Hey. Did you kiss me last night?" he said.

Draco was still being Lucius, and so the comment earned some very strange looks from the people around them. But Draco ignored them, and just shrugged. "I was a little drunk," he explained, defensive. "And that girl wanted to see it. You were so gone I figured you wouldn't care."

Harry blinked. That didn't sound like much of an explanation to him. "What if you'd been out with Hagrid instead of me? Then what – you'd have kissed him too?"

"Why are you obsessed with having sex with giants?" Draco demanded. He was starting to sound agitated, and yes, there was that blush again.

Harry decided to let him change the subject instead of torturing him. For the moment at least. "Well, seeing as the goblins are already spoken for… _Dad_…"

Draco made a noise of disgust, but it was lost in the much louder noise of disgust made by some lady who was standing next to them. Draco shot a glare. "You're not very good at not drawing attention, are you."

Harry ignored him and just blew his bangs out of his face. "You need a haircut."

* * *

><p>Hermione was holding their wands for safekeeping, and they had to take Muggle transportation to the law office where she worked. Harry guided Draco through the underground all right, both of them sipping from their Polyjuice flasks because it would be odd if they transformed in the midst of a crowd, and took him to her building with no problem at all.<p>

As they were waiting for the elevator, a man in faulty Muggle disguise (he was wearing rain boots with a suit, even though the weather was sunny) touched Draco's sleeve. "Lucius. What happened to your hair?"

Draco drew himself up and answered smoothly: "With all the Muggles that use this building, I was concerned about lice."

That explanation seemed to satisfy the wizard completely. "Well, anyhow, I'm glad I ran into you. We have to talk."

Draco frowned. "I'm afraid I don't have much time; I'm here for a meeting."

"It will be quick – and it should be private. Draco, son, if you'll excuse us?" The wizard gestured for "Lucius" to step outside with him, leaving Harry alone by the elevator.

Harry tried not to crane his neck and spy on them; it would not be a very Draco-like thing to do. Before long, though, he had bigger problems: the elevator arrived and a squat, vaguely-familiar man stepped out.

"Oh – Draco! Hello!" the man said. Then he laughed – not kindly. "So. Word's been all over about you and Potter."

What would Draco say to that? Harry shrugged and mumbled, "Oh, well that's… it's not what…"

He laughed again and clapped Harry on the back almost hard enough to knock him over. "Hey – any means, right? Nice work. You move faster than anybody would've guessed. And listen – we had a great idea about it the other night."

_Nice work? _Harry's stomach knotted up suddenly. "What do you mean?"

"Well, a few of us were talking, and we thought: Potter has a _fetish_ for rescue. So, what about if we get you kidnapped or something? Could help that love connection along even faster!" He snorted. "I haven't had a chance yet but I'll talk to your father about it as soon as I can. What do you say?"

So Draco was making nice to him under orders. Lying to him. And had succeeded _completely_. "Um, I don't think that's necessary," Harry managed at last – the man was still waiting for an answer. "Really. I'm… I'm still, you know… heh. Working."

He could hardly speak, much less act normal and carry off a decent Draco impression, but fortunately the man misinterpreted the problem. "Hey, chin up, Draco. We've all taken one for the team before."

"Yes sir."

The wizard left and a few minutes later Draco came back. "I saw Nott talking to you," he said, almost a whisper. "What was that about?"

"Oh… nothing much." Harry knew that in the ordinary scheme of things he was in no way shape or form capable of lying to Malfoy and not getting found out. But he was under Polyjuice, so it was all right that he was looking odd. Perhaps he could carry this off. "He just wanted the juicy details about you and Harry Potter." He shrugged. "You'd think grown men have better things to do than gossip… but I guess with Voldemort gone things have gotten pretty boring for the evil dark underbelly of the wizarding world."

He watched closely and caught just the barest hint of a hesitation. But Draco's recovery was almost perfect. "Yep," he said carelessly. "Pretty boring."

* * *

><p>Harry ditched Draco at the apartment as soon as he reasonably could, and raced straight to Ron and Hermione's to wait for them to get home from work.<p>

He sat at their table and stared across at where Draco had sat for dinner and all he could think of was: he was an idiot.

An _idiot,_ to think you could be friends with somebody you _knew _wasn't trustworthy, to think that somehow things could change on the basis of a few weeks lounging around on the couch together watching Muggle movies.

He was an idiot. He couldn't even yet mourn the loss of his new friendship, or wonder what he was going to do with his evenings now, or imagine what kind of _I-told-you-so_'s he would be fielding from his friends. Or think about taking steps to protect himself from whatever Malfoy's crew was planning. He couldn't think about the future at _all_. All he could do was rage. At the Malfoys, at their evil friends, but mostly at himself.

He was an idiot. He kicked the leg of the table. He kicked it harder. That wasn't enough, so he got up and kicked the wall.

That left a black scuffmark and it _still _wasn't enough. He took out his wand in irritation to clean up the mess, but he could hardly concentrate enough to cast a decent cleaning charm.

He hadn't been this angry, ever. Or at least since he'd got rid of the sliver of Voldemort living inside him. His entire insides had been replaced with a _need _to rip and tear, and kicking at walls was just not going to be enough.

As he stared at his wand Draco's voice came to him. _Does wonders for your temper. _He shuddered – not at the idea of curing his anger Draco's way, but at the fact that he was still thinking of Draco at all.

Well, if this would get the revolting little traitor out of his head…

He raised his left arm and aimed his wand at it.

Fortunately, though, the prospect of doing himself injury scared him enough that he couldn't cast a damaging spell properly. Useless sparks shot out instead.

That enraged him even _more, _and he turned and hollered "_Reducto!" _and blasted the table in half.

He was still trying to repair it when Ron and Hermione got back.

"Harry!" she gasped.

Ron ignored the destroyed table in favor of asking: "Hey – where's Ferret Boy? Why aren't you over at his place having a victory shag?"

Hermione rounded on him to hiss: "I said don't be bitter, Ron!" and therefore didn't see Harry making a terribly demented face and raising his wand again.

"_Look out!_" Ron shouted, and tackled her to the ground.

Harry's second destruction of the table was even more complete than the first. Splinters flew everywhere. Fortunately Ron had been in time and he and Hermione got up completely uninjured.

Harry stared in horror. He could have _hurt_ them.

"Don't worry, mate, we're fine," Ron assured, reading his face. He kicked at a pile of sawdust. "And don't worry about this bloody thing either; it's got a Warranty Charm against magical destruction. Leave the bits where they are, they'll all form back together again in a couple of hours."

Hermione dusted herself off and then came to put her arm around Harry. "Tell us what happened," is all she said.

* * *

><p>TBC.<p>

Let me know what you think so far!


	15. Chapter 15

A/N:  
><strong>tabitha666<strong>: Yeah I'm amazed at how the Sectumsempra thing is totally ignored in canon. Harry basically killed Draco, and didn't give a crap. And Draco just let it go. I mean, I know they were both busy with other stuff at the time, but still. Wtf?  
><strong>Glay:<strong> My Draco does tend to be pretty practical. I think I got that from canon... the only thing I've deliberately altered from the books/movies is that my Draco doesn't cry as much. The movies had way too much crying.  
><strong>Budinca:<strong> have a little faith! :o)

* * *

><p>Ron and Hermione were not quite as helpful as Harry had hoped. This was partly because Hermione was intent on rubbing his back and expressing sympathy for his assumed emotional ouches, and Ron broke off every few moments to shake his head in disgust and make disparaging comments about Draco and about Malfoys in general. Mostly, though, it was because they didn't have all the information. Harry was reluctant to share a few details that probably would have been useful – like, that he now felt terrible for the Sectumsempra incident, that Draco tended to turn his wand on himself when he got frustrated… and that at the behest of some unknown Muggle girl with a friend named Melanie, they had kissed.<p>

Still, the three of them put their heads together and worked some things out. They decided that Harry was not in any immediate physical danger, as Draco had had plenty of chances to attack him in his sleep and hadn't done it. And they suspected there was probably something in Malfoy Manor that people were trying to keep hidden. It could be anything of course, but one obvious candidate was the Grindelwald painting. Given the fact that D-mob apparently had a traitor, they couldn't try going to the Ministry about it…

"Who needs the Ministry anyway?" Ron said, elbowing Harry. "We've got a Dangerous Magical Objects expert right here!"

"I'm hardly an _expert_…"

"You're close enough – and you can walk right past the Malfoys' wards. All we have to do is keep Ferret Boy away while you-"

"Ferret Boy's got parents," Harry pointed out grimly. "I'm pretty sure I could take Draco in a fight, but honestly I'm not too thrilled at the idea of dueling Lucius – in his own home no less."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't you people _listen_? Draco said his parents are on holiday. They Apparated someplace and he expects them gone for weeks. That's how come he could take the family passports – everyone else is gone."

Harry nodded. "So the Manor's abandoned, then." It made sense – they would no doubt prefer to trust the powerful family magic to protect the place, rather than allow other wizards to come in and guard it.

"Yes." Hermione looked at Ron. "But we've got to keep Draco busy – away from him. If anything goes wrong – if Harry does something that disturbs the wards, or if whatever they're hiding does something destructive, Draco might be able to sense it. Or, if Draco happens to call for an elf and the elf happened to see anything fishy…"

"He needs to be kept busy," Harry agreed.

Ron made a face. "So, _you_ get to hunt around for killer portraits," he complained to Harry, "And in the meantime, _we_ hang out with Ferret Boy?"

"I told you, hanging out with Ferret Boy is not that bad," Harry said. Then he shook his head. "Anyhow, just hanging out with him won't be enough. If he senses something's off with his house magic he'll still come running. You have to _really _distract him, make him do something difficult or uncomfortable. But what?"

They sat in silence a while, thinking. Then Hermione came up with: "Meet the parents!"

Ron was confused. "What?"

"Yes!" Harry loved it. "In celebration of having made it out of danger with the help of my new, um, special friend… the Weasleys want us all to come over for dinner. They've heard we're together and they want to meet him. Draco will be overwhelmed by the Burrow. He'll be so focused on making a good impression on people who don't like him…"

"… That he'll hardly notice if his housemagic is tugging at him a little bit." Ron nodded. "I'll talk to my parents." He hesitated. "Charlie and Bill are out of town but they'll probably invite the others. Including George, so… Ferret Boy might want to watch his arse."

George's sense of humor had taken a decidedly nasty turn since the death of his brother. But Harry wasn't in a very protective mood. "Good. If Draco winds up in St. Mungo's, that'll just keep him away for even longer."

Hermione nodded. "That's settled, then. We'll invite Draco to the Burrow for dinner tomorrow night. Harry will zip over to the Manor and search it – and someone else will Polyjuice as Harry so Draco doesn't know he's gone."

"Works for me," Ron said, and then made a very sorry face in Harry's direction. "Now you better get home, mate, before you-know-who starts wondering why his _Ongoing Sexual Relationship_ isn't currently ongoing."

"I am _not _spending any more time with-"

"Ron's right, Harry," Hermione said. "If you normally sleep at his apartment you should sleep there tonight. Just do your best to act natural."

"But for everybody's peace of mind, please don't… y'know." Ron wrinkled his nose. "Tell him you have a headache or something."

* * *

><p>Harry took a shot of firewhiskey before going home. That way, when he walked into the apartment and Draco asked, "Where have you been?" he could just shrug and burp… and the stench of his breath would be enough to explain any unusual behavior.<p>

Draco laughed and waved the fumes out of his face. "Good lord, Harry. Not again."

Harry plunked down on the couch and didn't really answer.

Draco took another look at him. "Oy – what's the matter? You don't look good."

He burped again. Maybe the firewhiskey had been a bad idea. "Ron n Hermione," he mumbled, as planned. "They just… we quarreled. It's nothing."

"Mm. Jealous, are they?" He looked so smug Harry wanted to kill him.

"Something like that. Whatever. Want to watch something, or just go to bed?"

In answer Draco tossed him a tape. Harry frowned at the jacket. "_Interview with the Vampire_? Are you serious?_"_

"It seems to be about some vampires wondering whether they ought to treat Muggles as equals, or eat them. What do you think?"

"Er… sounds great."

A movie meant two hours where he didn't have to make eye contact at all – except for the rare occasions where Draco snorted and said something in his direction.

When one vampire tackled another to the ground and commenced sucking his blood, Draco said: "Now _that _is sweet floor-love. I should take notes." Harry felt it was perfectly normal for him to just roll his eyes.

The vampires snarled and bared teeth. Draco mused out loud that there might be a charm to give teeth like those, and Harry immediately declared: "You're not trying it out on me."

Draco didn't say anything when vampires betrayed and murdered their friend. Harry managed not to say anything either.

When the movie was over Harry got up quickly, explaining that he was tired. He headed for the bathroom to change and brush his teeth. When he came out, he discovered that Draco was already lying in bed, stretched out on top of the covers, with his hands folded behind his head. "Harry, you have no idea how much willpower it took to resist," he said. "I wanted to hide behind the door and pounce on you and go: _I've come to answer your prayers._"

Harry was amused – and then furious at himself. How hard could it be, to just keep sight of the fact that Draco was a traitor? "If you play vampires with me, I'll stake you," he said shortly.

"You and your moods. I _said_ I resisted." He rolled onto his side as Harry lay down. "Don't get comfortable yet," he warned. "It's been a couple of days since we-" eyebrow quirk. "-And I think we'd better do it again just to be sure."

Just in time Harry bit down on an _Oh, you'd like that, would you._ But no – that would be suspicious. Before he Knew, he wouldn't have taunted. What would he have done? Complained, most likely. So, he made a face and whined: "Draco, cmon."

"We'll both be in trouble if they catch us having faked a relationship to beat the charm," Draco pointed out, "And I'm not taking that chance. So, you can either cooperate, or not… but I'm going to do it anyway."

Harry faced the ceiling – it was easier to act normal when he wasn't looking. "Cooperate like how?" he asked, wearily.

"You can be the one to get off, if you want," Draco offered.

As if! There was no possible way he could enjoy himself now. "No… you go ahead," he said. "I'm tired. And I'm not moving."

Draco snorted and crawled up close to him. "I thought you said you _didn't _want to play vampires. But here you are, pretending to be a corpse."

Harry pointed to his wand, on the nightstand within reach. "Stake," he reminded.

Draco lay down on top of him. "Pardon me," he said, worming a leg in between Harry's. He seized Harry's wrist and started to move his hips. His face gravitated to its usual place in Harry's neck. "At least you smell good…"

"Do you have any idea how awkward it is to be complimented on my _smell _at a time like this," Harry growled.

"… Like _dinner, _that is!" Draco used his free hand to wrench Harry's head to the side, and bit down on his neck.

"Wh- _aah!" _Playful though it was it was not a very gentle bite; the pinch was sharp enough to make Harry yelp. It also made him arch hard and roll his hips.

Draco read that correctly and turned serious at once. "Oh," he said, bemused. "Really?" He bit again, an inch lower.

"That- wow," Harry gasped, possibly a stupid thing to say in the course of getting off but it really was the best way to express his feelings. The main feeling was surprise – surprise at each burst of pain, and surprise at how much it turned him on. He cupped the back of Draco's skull, holding him where he was. "Yeah, do that."

Draco tore the collar of Harry's t-shirt with a good sharp yank, and laid a line of bites all the way to his shoulder. Every one made Harry arch harder.

As much as he didn't want to be near Draco at the moment, this was still better than either of their earlier encounters. Although, now that he thought about it, the image of Draco shirtless and squirming for him had been quite a sight.

"Yeah," he said again, holding tighter. He was supposed to be acting natural, right?

"Mm. Looks like it's you tonight after all," Draco said against his skin, shifting angles so that it was Harry's crotch getting the brunt of the rub, instead of his own. "How's that?"

Harry nodded. "Let me take this off," he said, tugging at his shirt. "What's left of it, anyway."

Draco laughed and kneeled up to let Harry fight out of his shirt. And he pulled his own over his head, too. "It's hot in here," he explained. Neither of them mentioned that they both had wands within grabbing distance and knew perfectly good climate-control charms.

Harry reached up to touch the Sectumsempra scars again. Suddenly it was hard to be as mad at Draco as he ought to be.

"No," Draco said decisively, and peeled Harry's hands away. "Guilt is not sexy." He frowned. "Unless you're one of those weirdos who…?"

Harry shook his head and beckoned Draco back down. Once they were lying securely pressed together and eye contact was impossible, he overcame his embarrassment enough to turn his head to the side.

Draco understood the invitation. He ran his finger down the side of Harry's neck, and then applied teeth to one of the spots that ached already. That, combined with steady grinding against Harry's erection, was definitely the Right Idea.

After a while Harry took his free hand (his other was pinned to the bed, wrist squeezed as usual), and stroked up over Draco's back. Draco went _mmph _against him and his rhythm faltered. Also good.

Finally, when Harry was pressing up desperately and working his hips fast, Draco switched to sucking at the sore places, and pressing them with his tongue. His mouth was wet, and left cold spots. When he blew on them it took Harry completely apart.

Afterwards, he was so Done that Draco had to cast the cleanup charm himself and physically manhandle Harry over to his side of the bed. Harry had been wondering earlier how on earth he would be able to get to sleep next to such an effing traitor, but it turned out that that was a ridiculous worry – he was completely passed out before Draco even finished changing into his pyjamas.

* * *

><p>TBC.<p>

Eventually we'll clear up exactly where Draco stands on all this...

And we're going to see some Lucius soon too. (Actual!Lucius, not Polyjuice!Lucius).

Let me know what you think!


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I am SO terribly sorry for this delay! I have two excuses. One is that I was suddenly seized with inspiration for another story, which takes place during the Battle of Hogwarts and lets Draco be the one to end up dueling Lord Voldemort. (I think he's uniquely suited to do it. Even leaving aside all the Elder Wand stuff, this is a kid who was conjuring snakes when he was 12 and to whom the perfect insults to distract and enrage Voldemort come as natural as breathing.) And the second excuse is that there's this wedding coming up in a week – mine – and the preparations are eating up a lot of time. Sorry again!**

* * *

><p>They let George in on the plan, and he was glad to help. Once everyone was securely installed at the dinner table he made a rude comment and started looking all twitchy and haunted, then asked to be excused a moment. Harry rose. "I'll go check on him," he offered.<p>

He met George in the hall and they listened to Mrs. Weasley explaining: "George is a little moody, now, Draco, that's all. Everything's fine…"

They slapped a silent high-five and got started. George took a sip of Polyjuice and changed his clothes. Harry handed over an extra pair of glasses. Securely disguised as Harry, George went back into the dining room and explained that poor George wasn't feeling very social and would be remaining in his room for the rest of the evening.

Harry waited a moment to be sure that the excuse was working, and then Disapparated.

He stood just outside the Malfoys' gates, and they slid open. He stepped onto their property half-afraid that Draco had been lying to him all along – the wards would set him on fire as soon as he approached...

But the wards did not bother him. He walked up the path and walked into the Manor, and nothing at all happened except that some lights illuminated themselves automatically and a great snake carved into the foyer walls whispered, _Welcome, Master Harry._

Harry blinked, momentarily distracted. To someone who didn't speak Parseltongue, the greeting must come out as just an ugly garbled hissing noise. What an annoying thing for the family to have to live with! He wondered whose idea it was to install the thing and spell it alive.

The answer was obvious when he compared the freshness of that carving to all the generations-old heirlooms displayed elsewhere in the Manor. Rumor had it that Voldemort had holed up here for a time during his final bid for power. Harry got a horrible chill. Bad enough to have faced the creature a couple of times on a battlefield… what must it have been like _living _with him?

He shook off his bad feeling and continued on through the house. It cooperated by lighting itself up when he entered a room and going dark when he left (pointless to have brought Ron's Deluminator, then!), but beyond that it was just an abandoned and creepy mansion in perfect, spotless order. No people, but the house-elves must have been very busy with-

House-elves! Of course.

Harry clapped sharply and called for Floppy. Scattered or not, she was the only elf he would trust to guide him around this place.

"Master Harry!" She bowed and danced simultaneously, and appeared very close to losing her balance.

Harry crouched down by her. "Hello, Floppy," he said loudly and clearly. He felt odd shouting, especially while he was supposed to be sneaking around, but he knew that if he whispered they would get nowhere. "I need you to tell me something, okay?"

Floppy nodded energetically.

"I'm looking for a painting, okay? I need to get rid of it. It's a painting of… of a wizard. This man here." He took a crumpled page from his pocket – a photograph he'd torn out of a Dumbledore biography some time back. "Is there a portrait of him here in this house?"

Floppy took the picture from his hands and frowned at it, looking blank. Then she held it upside down. _That _way, she recognized it. She whimpered and hid behind Harry, letting the photograph flutter to the floor.

He sighed and pried her from his legs. "Look, I'll protect you," he promised, "But I need to get to that portrait, okay? Can you take me there?"

She wiped her eyes with her ears and gave a very wet and snuffling nod. And then, without further warning, she grabbed his hand and Disapparated with him. _CRACK- _And they were gone from their room, and

-_CRACK _then they were directly in front of the Grindelwald portrait instead. Floppy leaned against the wall where it hung and beamed up at Harry, confident that she had done a good job.

Only problem was, the Grindelwald portrait was hanging in a locked dungeon, guarded by two wizards – only one of whom was asleep.

* * *

><p>The guard whirled to face him but Harry reacted fast, with a Confundus charm. And then he dove behind the sleeping wizard's chair.<p>

"What – hey," the Confunded guard grumbled. "What was that? Berthier? Wake up, you little-"

"Mmuh?" The sleeping one managed. _Frenchfrenchsomething?_

Harry almost groaned aloud. If he got out of this alive, he was learning French. Period.

"You know I don't understand that gibberish," the English wizard complained. "Now, listen here: did you just hex me in your sleep?"

"Did I what?" Berthier asked, his English heavily accented.

"Hex me. In your sleep. I thought I felt- oh!" he broke off suddenly to point. "It must've been that thing!"

Floppy was cowering on the floor, squeezing her eyes closed, wringing her ears.

Harry's heart was in his mouth as the wizards closed in on the elf. _Run, Floppy!_ he was thinking at first. But then he recognized the stone that surrounded him and realized he was in one of Malfoy's dungeon rooms that wizards couldn't Disapparate out of. _Never mind, Floppy – don't go anyplace! _If Floppy ran off and left him here, he was screwed.

The wizards were bored and nasty – a bad combination. In a moment they had Floppy hanging upside-down in the air, hexing her while she shrieked.

Harry forced himself to take a few deep breaths instead of leaping up to intervene right away; it would do no good for anyone if he ran off half-cocked and got himself captured too. (This was a principle on which he had spent countless hours in training as a condition of being allowed on any D-mob field missions.)

There were two of them. Attacking them one at a time would be too slow… but if he cast some kind of area-wide attack instead, he risked hurting Floppy too. But if he-

"_Master said! Master SAID!_" Floppy's screams had suddenly turned intelligible, and Harry tensed. Now he _had _to do something, and fast. The moment his name came up-…

"Said what?" the English wizard paused in his spellcasting long enough to ask a few questions. "What did your master say to you?"

Floppy didn't appear to hear him. "Master _said,_" she insisted. Her squealing died off now that nobody was torturing her further, and by the time the wizards had exchanged exasperated glances and debated whether Lucius would really have sent orders via a half-baked house-elf, she found some more spirit. Still dangling upside down, she crossed her arms. She wouldn't be allowed to mouth off to the Malfoys' guests, but she addressed the grinning Grindelwald picture instead. "Master will protect Floppy," she said with certainty. "He said so. Because Master loves Floppy. But he _doesn't_ like the ugly, ugly picture! He'll get rid!"

The wizards frowned at each other. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know."

"Me either. Quiet, elf!" A jet of light, a squeak from Floppy, and Harry had had just about enough.

He flicked the Deluminator, listened for the thud as they dropped Floppy to the floor in surprise and then, with her safely out of the way, began casting curses willy-nilly into the darkness.

A few curses whizzed by him – including a Cruciatus, which confirmed his belief that these were Bad People, and a strange flowing incantation from the French wizard that he'd never even heard of.

But they didn't know where their enemy was or what was going on, and he did. So, before long no more curses were coming, and when Harry turned on the lights he found he had succeeded in Stunning them both.

He was just about to be proud of himself, when he realized that Floppy was lying still and silent. All of a sudden the wizards and the Grindelwald picture mattered a whole lot less.

* * *

><p>As unpredictable as he was these days, George was doing a <em>wonderful <em>job sitting in for Harry at dinnertime. He completely nailed Harry's flustered pleasure every time Mrs. Weasley did something motherly for him. He worked seamlessly into conversations between Ron and Hermione, and several times he even managed to smile easily in Draco's direction.

It helped that nobody was paying too close attention to him, though. They were mostly more interested in their unusual guest.

"So… what are you doing these days, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked Draco as soon as there was a lull in the chatter. "It's so strange, thinking of all of you as adults now, with your own jobs and-"

"Draco probably doesn't work, Mum," Ron put in – a little nastily. "Lap of luxury and all that. Hey. What _do _you do all day, anyways? When you're not out on dates with Harry, that is."

Draco ignored him and turned to Mrs. Weasley. "I volunteer at St. Mungo's."

Mr. Weasley covered his surprise the worst. "Really?" he said, after almost choking on a mouthful of food.

"Yes sir." Draco picked up his fork again but then realized that everyone was waiting for him to elaborate. Fine, elaborate he would. He first decided against the (true!) answer he gave when among friends: _My father's idea. Thought it would look good. _

Surprising himself a little, though, he also decided against the answer he gave when he was In Public: _The war was a very bad time for my family. We couldn't extricate ourselves in time, and since then, we've been looking for ways to sort of help make things right for people who were hurt. _

Instead, this time he started out with: "I started with their Potions people first – I've always been good at that."

"I remember," Ginny put in. "You had to tutor me once."

That won a slight smile. "Oh – that. Yes. Tutoring Gryffindors was something Snape made us do when we'd done something really, really terrible."

Ron chuckled. "Like what?"

"I got caught snogging a Hufflepuff." Draco rolled his eyes and anticipated: "Yes, the _getting caught_ was the real crime. That is the _one _rumour about Slytherin that happens to be true – Snape _did _always tell us: I don't want to hear about you doing such-and-such… because if I hear about it, it means someone caught you."

Hermione looked distinctly disapproving, but Ron was grinning.

Mrs. Weasley was less interested in the antics of Slytherin House than her children. "So, you help brew potions for victims of the War," she murmured. "That's a wonderful thing to do."

"Well… I did. I don't anymore." Draco's good mood vanished suddenly. "Now I work directly with a couple of kids, trying to peel some enchantments off them. We're not getting anywhere."

"I'm so sorry to hear that. Someone you knew?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"No," he said flatly. Then he swallowed and tried to sound less tense. "The Cattermole twins."

"The-…?" Ron exchanged glances with Hermione. "Wasn't that who…?"

"Their parents," Hermione agreed, then for the benefit of the rest of the table explained: "When Harry and Ron and I broke into the Ministry one time, we impersonated Reg Cattermole and helped his wife to escape during her hearing." She frowned at Draco. "I thought the Cattermoles had _three_ children."

"They did."

Everyone turned back to their plates quietly… except Hermione, to whom _letting things go _seemed to be a foreign concept. "What happened?" she asked.

_Exactly what you're thinking._ Draco shrugged at her, to all appearances perfectly cool. He had had to explain the story so many times that it rolled right off his tongue – and it was, after all, technically true. "I ran across the kids in the halls at St. Mungo's one day and I felt awful for them, they're in such terrible shape," he said, looking grave but calm. "I asked to be transferred straight away from Potions into the Patient Care unit."

Mr. Weasley nodded. "I read about them. They were the only survivors of a Death Eater attack on their family."

It was quiet for a moment, and then Hermione sighed. "And I waste my time in an office every day," she brooded. "When there's still so much to do…"

Mrs. Weasley clucked at her. "You have already given more than enough of yourself, dear," she declared.

"All the same, penning bi-world contracts seems so meaningless_, _compared to-"

"Now, that's my line!" Ron broke in, teasing her in order to lighten the mood. "And _you're _supposed to say…" he drew himself up and put on his best Hermione-voice. "Now, Ronald. Bi-world contracts are an important part of Wizard-Muggle relations; how can we ever learn to trust each other if we can't even start entering business arrangements together?"

Hermione blinked – and cooperated with the mood-lightening. "You actually _listen _when I talk?"

"No," Draco answered for him, "He just stores up the words to parrot back to you sometimes. But did you know they're working on a _plant_ that can do that now? So he'll soon be fully replaceable! If you cross a Mandrake with this other-"

"Very funny, Malfoy," Ron grumped.

Just after that, though, dinner was ended abruptly when the Burrow's home wards came to life. The floor shook and an heirloom Dark Detector in the front hallway began shrieking. Multicolored strands of magic crackled out in the yard, framing the house in a net of protection, and everyone jumped up from the table to get to the windows and have a look.

By the light of the shield spells they could make out figures prowling, in dark robes. Ron wasted no time in shoving Draco hard against the wall and demanding: "Who the bloody blue fuck is that?"

"How the bloody blue fuck should I know?" Draco snarled back. "Why don't you ask Harry – he's the one people are always trying to kill!" He pulled free. "Well? Harry?"

George frowned, apparently considering making something up. Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. "I think we should tell him," Hermione decided.

* * *

><p>TBC.<p>

**Let me know what you think so far! Again, sorry for the delay.**

**I've got the next update mostly-written already, and I should be able to find time to get it polished and up this weekend. Fingers are crossed!**


	17. Chapter 17

Harry was down on his knees beside the elf in half a second. She was breathing but unconscious, and though there were no visible wounds on her, blood was pooling beneath her head.

_She wears a glamour,_ Harry remembered suddenly. No wonder he couldn't see what was the matter. He wondered if it was safe to try and take it off… but then, even if he could see her injuries, how on earth could he help? He now knew that you couldn't just go around throwing human medical spells at non-human magical creatures. But how _did _you take care of magical creatures?

Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid.

He could to take Floppy to Hogwarts – if he moved fast.

But there was also the Grindelwald portrait to consider; now that he'd gotten this far he couldn't just leave it in the hands of people who were apparently trying to plot with it. The basic assessment spells they used at D-mob were designed for use in emergencies and combat, and they took no more than thirty seconds to complete, so Harry ran through them quickly, checking the thing for booby traps, poisons, and protective wards.

The wards were humongously powerful. Off the charts. It wouldn't be safe to perform any kind of magic on the picture at all without some further study, and it certainly wouldn't be safe to touch. Harry ripped the shirt from one of the unconscious wizards to wrap it up with, and physically lifted it off the wall. He could feel the power crackling off the thing, but it was Dumbledore's power, and it felt friendly. More friendly than most of the objects he handled these days, anyway.

He scooped Floppy off the floor as carefully as he could and tied her in a sling around his chest. He clapped hard. "_Barney!_" he snapped. When the elf appeared he took its hand and hung on to the wrapped-up portrait. "Take us upstairs," he ordered, "To a fireplace that's wired for Floo – _and is located in a room that's currently deserted_!" Never let it be said that Harry Potter didn't learn from his mistakes.

* * *

><p>Hermione had only got as far as: "That's actually George Weasley, not Harry. We know you're hiding something in your family's house, and Harry has gone to look for it-" before Draco started going berserk. He whipped out his wand, Ron wrestled it away from him, and Hermione tried to talk over them.<p>

"Draco- Draco, please," she begged over the hollering. "Not now. You have a right to be mad about that, but this isn't the time for it. First we have to figure out about these people outside, all right? The house is under _attack – _someone could get hurt."

"Well I don't see how that's my problem!" he snarled, fighting to get hold of his wand again. "Let go!" With two quick spells Hermione threw him into a chair and tied him there.

Mrs. Weasley finally took the situation in hand. "_Sonorus,"_ she said firmly, and stepped up to the window. "WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT DO YOU WANT?" she boomed across the yard.

The wild curses stopped and finally one of the wizards answered back. "GIVE US MALFOY," he bellowed, "AND NOBODY ELSE WILL GET HURT."

For a moment there was silence. Then Ron took a coin out of his pocket. "Heads we do it," he said, and flipped.

"Ron!" Mrs. Weasley blasted the coin out of the air. "This is no time." She turned to her husband. "We'll Floo for help first. After these people are gone we can figure out what-"

"Mum!" George called from the window. He had drawn his wand and was using it to put out a small grass-fire in the yard. "I'm not sure we have that much time. Some of their spells are starting to get through the wards."

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley hurried to other windows to assess the damage.

"We should run," Hermione said quietly.

"And let the Burrow be destroyed?" Ron shook his head. "No. We fight. Or we give them what they want."

"Ron!" Hermione barked, stepping closer to Draco – who was still tied to a chair. "He's Harry's friend-"

"_Was _Harry's friend-"

"-And a guest in your house-"

"… Who we invited as a _trick-_"

"And _he _didn't give _us _up when Voldemort came knocking," she reminded firmly, and Ron fell silent. "It's out of the question."

Ron turned away. "This is my family's _home_. And you're saying we should abandon it for Ferret Boy."

At long last Draco put his two cents in. "_I'm_ not saying that. I'm saying we curse the living fuck out of whoever's outside. Let me up."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other.

"Oh, for-! Just let me up! Whatever Harry did tonight has apparently been blamed on me," Draco growled. "Those people are hunting me and they don't look friendly – do you really think I'd run off alone? Let me _up_. I can help – I know magic more dangerous than the rest of you put together."

Ron finally pointed a wand at him. "If you double-cross us…"

"I'll leave the double-crossing to Harry. He's better at it anyway." Draco closed his eyes and tilted his chin back, waiting for Ron to spell him free.

* * *

><p>The three of them headed together to the front hallway, where Mrs. Weasley was peeking out of a window while her husband fiddled with various kludged dials and contraptions that seemed to monitor the home's protective magic.<p>

She was wringing her hands. "We'll have to run. I won't fight – I _won't," _she said over them, "We won't risk you children's lives."

"Shouldn't your house wards be enough protection?" Draco asked. "I have yet to see any impressive magic out there."

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "The wards aren't going to hold. They haven't been the same… since Fred..."

Draco frowned. "Since Fred what?"

Hermione elbowed him, but everyone else turned identical looks of horror on him. Ron answered. "Since Fred _died,_ you little-"

"Yeah, I _know _Fred's dead," Draco snapped back. "I just meant, sir, what did he do to the wards?"

"_Do _to them? Nothing," Mr. Weasley said, perplexed.

"Then… what are you talking about?" They stared at each other, not understanding.

Hermione finally figured out what the problem was. "Draco – the Weasleys didn't hire professional warders; they did it all themselves," she explained. "So, when a family member dies, then the wards are weakened, until the family recasts them."

Mrs. Weasley was still fretting. "I knew we should have made time, we should have redone everything! It's just I didn't want to think about it, about Fred being…"

Everyone spoke up at once to soothe her.

"Molly, don't blame yourself-"

"-Mum we didn't-"

"Mum, honestly, it's not like that-"

"How could you have known people would-"

A sharp _bang _from a wand silenced everyone. Draco cleared his throat. "We have to solve this – now. I know how much time it would take to hire somebody and that's out of the question, but there are five of you here – can't you recast the spells now?"

Hermione answered for them. "No – not in this hubbub, Draco, it takes time and concentration. Haven't you ever seen wards cast before?"

"No," he snapped, "My house has always had-…" he stopped suddenly, thinking. Then he nodded. "Sell it to me," he said shortly. "This place. If I owned it, it would fall under the protection of my family magic."

Everyone fell silent, except Ron, who exploded. "Are you out of your mind?"

Hermione was looking out the window at the commotion outside, at dark swirls leaking into the yard. George was on the lawn sweeping them away with great wind spells, but they just kept coming… "Ron, it might be the only way."

"I'd sell it back to you as soon as the crisis is over." Just in time, Draco swallowed down any comment like _Do you really think I'd want to actually OWN this place?_

"All right." Mr. Weasley stepped forward and rolled up his sleeves. "Ron and I will go outside and help George. Ginny, go upstairs and… and…"

"Hide, uselessly?" She glowered. "Thanks, but I'll at least stay here and shore up defenses through a window."

Mr. Weasley nodded at her. "All right. Now, Hermione? I've heard you write some of the tightest contracts in London."

"In the world, I'd say," she corrected. "_Accio _parchment_! Accio _quill_!_ I'll have something binding together in two minutes. We'll seal in blood, it's the quickest of any of the formalities since we don't have enough disinterested witnesses here. Mrs. Weasley, go to the living room and sit down – you and Draco both."

* * *

><p>Under the contract, the Burrow would transfer to Draco's ownership as soon as the purchase price of one galleon four knuts (the amount of change Draco happened to have in his pockets) changed hands. He gave the cash to Mrs. Weasley and at once a golden netting crackled out in the air over the yard.<p>

Hermione glued her face to the window and watched it settle. Now, the attackers' spells were bouncing off neatly, and all attempts to approach resulted in people getting thrown back ten feet into the air. She looked over to grin at Draco, and he only smirked.

The Weasley men came in from outside, and Mrs. Weasley finally relaxed and put her wand away. "Now we can catch our breaths and figure out what's going on," she said with confidence.

"It's Harry's fault," Draco said immediately. "Apparently he's been meddling with something at the Manor tonight, I don't know what, but my father's got friends who-… well… you see them."

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked at each other. "Where exactly is Harry now?"

Hermione shook her head. "We don't know. He was supposed to come back here after he was done."

"You don't think…" An expression of horror was slowly forming up on Ron's face. "Could something have… _happened _to him?"

Draco had begun to pace. "No, because what would those people be doing here if they already had what they wanted?" he said. "Harry must have done something annoying, and gotten away."

"If he thought he was being followed, he wouldn't come back here," Ron decided. "He'd be afraid to lead them to us – he's still a noble bloody idiot no matter how old he gets."

That sounded about right. Draco nodded. "Then where would he go? Do you people have any secret hideouts or something?"

"Hideouts?" Hermione put her hands on her hips. "Draco, I'm a _lawyer. _The War is over. We don't have anything like that anymore."

"Fine, then where? If people were after him, where would he go to feel safe?" He frowned. "My apartment? He does live there..."

Hermione answered, with something very like pity: "He won't feel safe there now, Draco. Not after all this – he thinks you're part of it, maybe even knew about the trap in France."

"The-…? But- but I came to rescue him!" Draco sputtered. "That doesn't even make any sense!"

Ron shrugged, not looking very apologetic. "Old habits."

Mr. Weasley interrupted their argument. "If you don't have any better ideas, I'll go to the Ministry," he said. "At work we've got ways of locating employees, or at least telling whether they're alive and unhurt. I've got friends in Harry's department; with any luck someone will be on duty who can help me. Someone I trust," he said, over any potential objections. "I won't go telling just anybody what's going on."

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "Good. Go. I'll stay here and help watch over the house."

"No need," Draco said with confidence. "They're giving up already; listen – the curses have almost stopped."

Mrs. Weasley peeked out the window and decided he was right. "In that case I'll go look for Harry too. I'll check his apartment, his Muggle family's home, the old Order headquarters… all the places he might rush off to in a panic." She gave them all a very dark glare. "You children stay here until we figure out what's going on."

They all nodded yes yes, until Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were gone. Then Ron let out a long breath. "The hell with that!"

"Yeah." Draco smirked. "Nobody gives me orders in _my own house_."

"About that." Ron looked very ready to pick a fight of some kind, but Hermione stepped in and took him by the arm.

"Ron, it was for the best and you know it," she said. "We're safe now – nobody can get in through those wards."

"Well," said Lucius Malfoy, from an armchair behind her. "Nobody except me."

Everyone jumped and turned on him. Several curses were thrown, and bounced off a neat Shield Charm he'd already set up. He didn't move, or throw any curses back, or even acknowledge the people who had attacked him. All he did was turn to the person who had _not, _and say: "Draco, put your wand away."

Draco did it, with a huge sigh of relief. He wasn't exactly eager to help put a hurting on these people, but neither did he plan on standing up to his father for them. This way, he wouldn't have to do either; without a wand he was effectively precluded from choosing sides at all. What a clean solution. He owed Lucius huge.

A moment later, though, there was an arm around his chest and a wand point digging into his neck. Ron. "Come out from behind that Shield Charm," Ron ordered over Draco's head. "Or I'll do your precious little son here some permanent damage."

"Ridiculous."

"Saying I'd _kill_ him would be ridiculous," Ron agreed. "But I'll take a leaf from old Bellatrix's book and carve a nice big W on his forehead. How pretty will he be then, do you think?"

Draco tried not to panic. His father looked hard into his eyes and Draco felt the press of his mind, so he opened himself to the Legilimency and called up the memories Lucius would probably find most relevant. Ron calling him names, Ron shoving him, Ron smiling at him, Ron jumping to steady his wine glass.

Lucius quickly weighed what he'd learned, and decided: "No, I don't think you will."

In response Ron muttered an incantation – not Bellatrix's – and drew his wand down the side of Draco's neck. Draco hissed as his skin parted, and shivered as a drop of blood tickled its way down into his robes.

Lucius looked almost pitying. "If that's your idea of _permanent damage_…"

Draco could feel Ron tense, and started worrying. He'd already drawn blood, which exceeded Draco's expectations, so who knew what else he might decide to do? "Father, may I get my wand out again, please?" he asked as calmly as he could.

Lucius didn't take his eyes from Ron's and his sneer was perfect. "Not now, darling, Daddy's busy." And then, as if he'd put Draco's predicament out of his mind completely, he looked around at the others. "We all know – at least, our esteemed contract-writer does – that since I am Draco's father and the source of the money with which he purchased this… property…" his eyes flickered around the room in open disgust, "… I have the ability to rescind the contract with a word or, alternately, as our patriarch to withdraw the protection of our family magic."

Ron sucked in his breath.

"I have not done so – yet. That should tell you people something. Hm?"

Ron, who was still digging his wand into Draco's bleeding neck, finally spoke up. "Yeah, we get it, you want to talk. Just come out from behind there so I can let him go, would you?"

Lucius finally shrugged and waved his Shield Charm away. Ron let go of Draco immediately and Draco drew his wand for healing charms. Ron's attempt to apologize got an eye-roll in return.

The tension in the room dropped several degrees.

"I don't care in the slightest about the stolen Grindelwald portrait," Lucius began. "You people seem to think that all Dark wizards are interchangeable, but the fact is, if you'd done a single moment of research you would have learned that we who followed Voldemort have nothing but disdain for Grindelwald's ideas." At _research _his eyes flickered to Hermione, and she cringed a bit under his sneer.

Ron spoke up. "But you were hiding his picture in your house."

"I was doing a favor for wizards who were once my allies and who might have been so again," Lucius corrected.

"Might have been?" Hermione repeated.

"Given the failure of this project, and the fact that they made an attempt – even unwitting – on the life of Harry Potter, I expect that these people will be imprisoned or stamped out before much time passes." Lucius shrugged – smooth, graceful. "I see no reason to risk myself or my son for them."

Ron whistled softly. "That's cold, mate."

Hermione tossed her hair. "Don't sound so shocked, Ron," she said icily. "We all know that loyalty isn't the Malfoys' strong suit." She glared at Draco. "Any means, right? _Seducing_ your friends, hiding illegal artifacts from them… and now you're surprised at this? I'm not."

Lucius did not seem to mind her comments even the tiniest bit. He rolled up both sleeves carefully, revealing the ghost of his Dark Mark on one arm and nothing at all on the other. It was perhaps the subtlest way anyone had ever found of insulting her, so subtle that it bypassed Ron entirely.

Draco cleared his throat. "So, Father. What now?"

Lucius's eyebrows rose faintly at that hint of rebellion, but he backed off and turned his attention to George instead – the oldest pureblood male in the room. "There's a traitor in the Ministry, in Potter's department. I can give you a name and incontrovertible proof, and in return, my family's name will be kept out of this entire fiasco. Agreed?"

"But… but how will we explain…"

Draco spoke up. "We'll say some French wizards stole the painting, and Harry and I tracked it down in France," he suggested. "He's Harry Potter, so everyone will believe him." His face darkened. "Though Merlin only knows why."

Lucius snorted.

"Father, may I go? I need to have a few words with Harry about all this."

"Certainly. Don't make the papers."

"As if," Ron put in, snorting. "If you so much as look at Harry cross-eyed, he'll ice you."

Hermione just gave Draco a Look. "Hold it. What about those people outside? Are they gone?"

"I'll let them know that their plans have been foiled," Lucius offered coolly, "And they'll all scurry home to destroy evidence. It should be at least a few hours before anyone rallies up with thoughts of vengeance. Oh, and Draco?"

"Yes?"

"Provided nobody kills you during the night, be sure you return here tomorrow to give Arthur back his..." A terrible sneer flashed over his face. "-House. Or burn it if you wish – as long as it's out of my portfolio, I honestly don't care."

"Yes, Father. Oh – and do you know where Harry is? Is he still at the Manor?"

"Harry. Another thing about which I don't care." Lucius's smile was brittle. "I haven't crossed paths with the little terror at all tonight. The family magic said he's at Hogwarts. Good evening."

Lucius Disapparated without another word.

"Hogwarts?" Ron echoed. "Why Hogwarts? That wasn't part of the plan…."

"_Plan_? To hell with your plans," Draco snarled. The very thought of their treachery sparked his temper. "Have you people even got Floo access in this dump? I'm going after him."

* * *

><p><strong>TBC.<strong>

**Yikes, I'm taking forever with these chapters. Sorry! At least this one was long though.**

**Brief thoughts about a future Draco vs. Voldemort fight I'm planning (in another story).  
>So, I'm working lots on that story I mentioned earlier, where Draco is the one who gets to take on Voldemort at the end. I re-watched all the scenes of Voldemort dueling Harry and Dumbledore, and it seems that his main fighting "strategy" is to fling around giant bursts of power or show off by breathing magical fire. Except for the Unforgivables, he seems to use basically all nonverbal spells which require a lot of power and are super flashy and showy. It looks like he fights with his ego rather than his head. While Draco's waaaay less powerful, he's also probably much better trained. He probably had dueling instructors since he was a kid, and he was probably made to actually practice. (Voldemort, on the other hand, never practiced dueling with capable opponents, because that would entail the possibility of losing, a thought his fragile little ego couldn't handle.) So their styles are totally different, and I think they're going to make a great matchup!<strong>


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